Miracles: Big and small
by mu5icliz
Summary: Sherlock's death was one of the hardest things John had ever had to deal with. Now months later he is faced with an even harder task: raising a child by himself. The father of this child? Well none other than Sherlock Holmes.
1. Ch 1 Sunday 8 July Year 1

Sunday 8 July – Year 1

Noon

"You...You told me once...That you weren't a hero. There were times when I didn't even think you were human, but let me tell you this. You were the best man, the most human…Human being that I've ever known and no one will ever convince me that you told me a lie, so...There. I was so alone…And I owe you so much. But please, there's just one more thing, one more thing, one more miracle, Sherlock, for me, don't be…Dead. Would you do that just for me? Just stop it. Stop this."

John lost his composure and started to cry. His shoulders hunched as he let his emotions wash over him. He only let a few tears run down his face before wiping them away.

He straightened up and turned in the direction from which he came. Mrs. Hudson was already in the taxi waiting for him. Soon they made their way to 221B.

"John, cant I offer you a cuppa at least?"

"No that's alright. I should really get back to my flat."

"Alright then. You take care of yourself." She gave him a soft peck on the cheek and exited the taxi.

"Where to mate?" asked the taxi driver.

"The nearest coffee shop."

He felt bad lying to Mrs. Hudson but truth is he just couldn't go back in there. Not now. It had been 3 weeks since Sherlock's suicide and still he felt the same way he did moments afterwards. Every time he closed his eyes he could see Sherlock's flailing body falling off the roof of St. Bart's.

John got out of the cab when it stopped in front of a hole in the wall cafe. Once inside, he ordered a coffee (milk, no sugar) and took a seat far from everyone else.

Mrs. Hudson was still asking him to move back into Baker Street but that was not a possibility at the moment. John had tried being there just days after the fall but all it had done was make him depressed. He would sit in his chair for hours staring at Sherlock's violin willing it to play for him.

He supposed if he ever did finally get the nerve to move back in he could. Last he had heard, Mycroft paid a full year's rent for the flat after hearing of his brother's death. John couldn't imagine why he would do that. He probably didn't have any other place to keep Sherlock's things.

John also didn't want Mrs. Hudson to see what he truly looked like at the moment. His limp was back. He knew it was psychosomatic but no matter how many times John lay in bed telling himself it was psychosomatic, the pain would not go away. John could almost see the pain in Mrs. Hudson's eyes if she ever saw him limping again.

The court case following Sherlock's suicide had been brutal and had only just ended. John had remained his position about Moriarty being real and Sherlock being a genius but it seemed the media had their own ideas. Sherlock's brilliant reputation was gone just like him.

John finished his coffee then took a cab back to his flat. His tiny flat was outside of London but it was all he could afford at the moment. When he arrived he paid the cabby and climbed the flight of stairs to his flat.

He walked over to his door and took out his key. John made to unlock it but the door wasn't locked. Cautiously he opened the door and took a step inside.

The sun was setting which should have made the flat a bit dark but someone had switched the lamps on. In the kitchen his kettle was just coming to a boil. His living room contained a small dining table on one side and a sofa facing the television on the other. On his sofa sat a very alive and very pregnant Irene Adler.

"Hello John," she greeted.

John stood frozen in his spot. Irene was supposed to be dead. Mycroft had told him. His mind quickly processed the information. This was Sherlock's doing.

"So...Sherlock...he...he saved you?" he tentatively asked by way of greeting.

"Yes. He made it so that everyone would think I was dead," she said.

Just then Irene's girlfriend came from the kitchen with a tray of tea and biscuits.

"Please take a seat John," Irene gestured.

John slowly sat down on the opposite end of the sofa from her. Irene's girlfriend exited the flat and left them alone to sip their tea.

"So, " John said to break the silence "I believe congratulations are in order?"

Irene cocked her head to one side and gave him a curious look. She then broke into a knowing smile. "Ohhh my pregnancy. Yes thank you."

Silence again and John had to break the silence again. "You do know that Sherlock is not here."

"Yes. I heard of his suicide a few days ago. I was trying to get in contact with him for the past month. He was still alive when I first tried but I guess he died a week later...how are you holding up? I know how close the two of you were."

There was so much emotion that went into telling people just how he felt about Sherlock's death. It had felt like someone had removed his insides and only left him an empty shell.

Irene took his silence for an answer.

"So what are you doing out of hiding? Is someone after you? Is your unborn child in danger?" he asked.

"No it's nothing like that. The groups that were after me have either been paid off or they're dead thanks to Sherlock. I'm relatively safe for now. No one suspects a pregnant woman." She took a sip of tea before continuing, "The reason I'm here has to do with the original reason I was contacting Sherlock. I tried putting it off but I'm running out of time. Sherlock's death actually might have perfected this plan."

"What plan?"

"The plan to give you my baby."

John froze. Was he hearing correctly? "What? Give me your baby. Why would I take your baby? Give him to his father."

"The baby's father is dead."

John sat in silence while he tried processing the information. Irene just sat watching him work it out in his mind.

"Are you telling me Sherlock's the father?" John asked as his jaw dropped. He knew he would regret asking that question.

"That's exactly what I'm saying," she smiled.

John felt a mixture of hurt, pain, jealousy, and betrayal all at once.

Sherlock had slept with Irene.

He had loved her.

He procreated with her. It wasn't a game.

And apparently she had loved him too. A woman in her profession doesn't have unprotected sex with just anyone.

"If you're wondering how I could have let this-" she pointed to her stomach "-happen. It was his first time and we're both risk takers so we just let the odds play themselves out. Apparently we lost." She gave a small chuckle.

John was breathing heavily now. How could they be so irresponsible? How could Sherlock have lost his virginity to her? He felt a pang of jealousy.

Months ago Irene had said that John had been in love with Sherlock. It was only now after he was dead and a visit to his therapist that John understood that he had loved the man. To see Irene pregnant was the only confirmation he needed to know that Sherlock must not have thought of him the same way.

"So you came to tell me that you're pregnant with Sherlock's child? And you're sure it's his?"

"I did a paternity test already. Plus he's the only one I've had unprotected sex with. And no I'm not just here to tell you. I'm here to offer you to be Hamish's father."

"Hamish? So you know you're having a boy?"

"No I didn't want to find out but I assumed you'd want to name the baby something along those lines seeing as you presented the idea."

John knew what she was talking about but there was another pressing issue at the moment. "Me. A father?"

"Yes. You seem the most logical choice. If Sherlock were alive, he wouldn't want a baby around. In my line of work, I can't afford to be a mother. I have no family. I'm sure Sherlock's family doesn't want me dropping a grandchild on their laps. You are the only logical choice. It's either you or I drop the baby off at an orphanage which I am still open to."

John sat frozen in his spot. He had thought of being a father some day. His 40th birthday had passed a week ago. He wasn't getting any younger. Maybe this would be his chance to finally become one. But to Sherlock's child? "Do you even think I'd be qualified?"

Irene gave a soft chuckle. "You raised the original Sherlock Holmes. I think you can manage the early years."

Then she pulled out some forms from her purse and laid them on the coffee table. "Come on we're going to be late."

"Late for what?"

"My doctor's appointment of course."

5:50pm

Irene's town car carried them through the streets of London. She had a private doctor since not many people knew she was alive.

John was still feeling slightly dazed from the conversation earlier. He tried picturing a miniature Sherlock Holmes but the image only caused him pain.

"Hayleigh"

John turned to look at Irene looking confused. "Sorry..."

"Hayleigh. In case the baby turns out to be a girl, you can name her Hayleigh," she said.

"Right... I don't remember agreeing to anything."

"You're honestly going to let me send my unborn child to an orphanage?" she asked.

"Look... I don't know...right now I'm in no state to be a father. Financially, emotionally, psychologically..." he pointed to the cane in his hand.

"Well you have almost 5 full months to change all of that. By the last week of November I should have given birth."

John just let the words wash over him and Irene let him sit in silence.

The town car pulled into an alleyway and the driver got out and opened the door for him while Irene's girlfriend went and did the same for her. He followed Irene through a door in one of the brick buildings surrounding them. Inside the building was a small and bleach white clinic with very few patients. The patients looked like gang members looking to get medical attention without drawing attention to themselves.

Irene's appointment was at 6 and they had arrived just in time. The nurse waved them back into the patient's room.

Inside was rather bare. It just contained an examining bed, a counter with a sink, and an ultrasound machine in the corner.

They waited in silence while John took a seat in a stool and Irene lay down on the examining bed. The doctor came in and greeted them both.

"I was wondering when the father of the baby was going to come along," teased the doctor.

"Oh he's not the father," said Irene. "At least not yet," she smiled in John's direction.

"Right. Well then. I'll get the ultrasound machine ready. Also, do you want to know the sex of the baby?" The doctor looked at John for the answer to that question.

"Umm... sure?" he tentatively answered.

John wasn't sure if the sex of the baby was going to make a difference on his decision or not.

The doctor set up the machine and soon enough they were looking at a baby. The picture wasn't clear at first but soon John could just make out the picture of the baby's head.

He fought back tears of joy and sadness. Sadness that Sherlock had died before he could get a chance to see this and joy at the life that had come from his suicide.

Irene looked at John and smiled. She looked at ease for a woman whose child was on display.

The doctor talked them through the ultrasound, "If you look right there you can just make out the baby's foot... and... If we look right here...congratulations you're having a boy."

At that point John could no longer hold back his tears. He let two tears stream down his cheeks before wiping it all away.

"It's a baby Hamish, John" said Irene as she squeezed his hand and smiled at him.

Irene's doctor ran a few more tests to check that everything came back normal, which they did. Then she and John were on their way out the door both hobbling – John with his cane and Irene with her pregnant stomach. They climbed back into the town car and they were soon on their way.

John's head was buzzing. Only this morning he had been mentally preparing to revisit Sherlock's grave and now he was trying to decide what to say to Irene's offer.

He didn't even notice when the car stopped in front of a restaurant until Irene's driver was once again opening his door. John grabbed his cane and followed Irene into the restaurant. The hostess seated them to a private table and served them water.

Irene took a sip of water before she spoke. "So have you thought more about what you want to do?"

"I have but I still don't know what I'm going to do," said John.

"You don't have to decide today. I left the forms at your flat so if you want to go through with it, you can sign them, send them to me and then I will contact you to tell you what we need to do next. I'll wait 2 months. If I don't hear from you by that time, I'll assume your answer is no," she said as easy as making a business transaction.

John and Irene sat quietly when the waiter came back and took their order.

When the waiter left John spoke, "I guess I'll consider it..."

"Good. That's all I wanted. I'm sure baby Hamish will be very happy with you," she smiled.

An image of John holding a small boy in his arms suddenly came to mind. The boy had pale skin and dark curls – John quickly shook his head. This is Irene's doing he thought.

John looked at her. She had a wicked smile on her face. She knew what game she was playing at. Making sure John could see himself with a baby Hamish would only sway his decision.

"That's not fair," he said.

"Not fair is to let an innocent child be abandoned when you could have done something-"

"So now it's my fault!" John could feel the anger rising in his body "I wasn't the irresponsible one here."

"I understand you're angry. Sherlock and I let our egos get the best of us which is why I need your help." She paused as John froze at her words. "Yes. I need your help. Sherlock and I have more similarities than differences. Our egos are our downfall. We both don't feel human emotion as well as others. I misbehave to make my way in the world. Sherlock destroyed himself with drugs just to keep his mind from over taking him... and now we procreated? You are the only person I know who could actually handle such a child. I know it's a lot to ask but if I choose to put him in an orphanage-" she stopped as her voice suddenly became constricted "I fear he will die in the streets..." she broke off. It was the first time John had actually seen her show some emotion towards her child.

Soon the food arrived and they began to eat. Luckily the topic changed to how Sherlock had managed to save her. She told him about the terrorist cell in Karachi that had captured her 2 months after being released by the British government. On the day of her beheading, she had gone out and kneeled before her executioner. She sent Sherlock a final text message then waited to feel the cold steel of the sword on her neck. Instead she heard Sherlock's cell phone ring and her executioner looked at her with grey-blue eyes and told her to run. Then he turned and fought the tribesmen. Irene had stayed frozen for a moment but when the tribe leader came to steal her away, she had disarmed him and held him hostage. Everyone halted as she, the tribe leader, and Sherlock backed out of the warehouse they had held her in. The 3 of them piled into a jeep that Sherlock had brought with him and they made their way into the desert. After driving for miles they stopped and left the tribe leader in the middle of the desert.

"...After that he and I went to the nearby city under false identities and... We spent the night..." John didn't need a translation for what that meant and luckily Irene did not spell it out for him. "...And that was the last time I saw him. I went into hiding. He sent me a list of places to move about. I did as he told me and I managed to stay alive. It was in April that I discovered I was pregnant."

"And you only tried contacting him a month ago?" John asked.

"I didn't want to risk my safety, the baby's, or Sherlock's."

"Funny little makeshift family the 3 of you have," John scoffed.

There was silence again as they finished their meals.

"I'll pay for dinner John. I do you this favor and hopefully you will do me another."

"I think paying for this dinner is cheaper than what you're asking of me."

They left the restaurant and Irene's town car dropped him off outside his flat.

"John, I hope you consider everything I've said today. I've never been this truthful to anyone. I'd like to know my efforts made some difference."

John nodded and gave his goodbye. He stood out on the curb and watched Irene with her pregnant stomach disappear. He didn't go inside until the car had turned the corner.


	2. Ch 2 Monday 9 July Year 1

Monday 9 July

John walked up the steps of 221B. From the floor above he could hear a violin sweetly playing a song. The song was familiar to him. He would think of that song until the day he died.

John slowly climbed the steps. Slower...slower...only 3 steps left.

He needed to make it last. This had happened too many times.

Only one step left.

John tried to stop moving but he couldn't. His foot landed on the top step and the effect was instant. The violin stopped playing and the silence became deafening. His feet automatically carried him inside and he took a look around.

Everything inside was exactly as John remembered it. The sofa up against the right wall. The yellow painted smiley with the bullet holes. The large table in the middle of the room. The skull on the mantel. It was all the same except Sherlock was missing this time. He always stood by the window. When he played he looked out onto Baker Street. Whenever John came home Sherlock would stand with his back to the window and greet John as he walked through the door. Not this time though.

A sound came from the bedroom to the left. Sherlock's bedroom. He's probably in his bedroom, thought John.

John's feet carried him into the hallway and through the doorway of Sherlock's bedroom. Inside the room was the same. Chaos. Books piled in a far corner. Clothes on the floor. Case papers covering the wall farthest from the door. The bed was just the same. Blankets bunched into a pile in the middle of the bed.

Then the blankets began to move...and there was that noise again. John moved to the side of the bed. He raised an arm to lift the blanket. He slowly pulled back and inside the blankets was a baby. The baby had light brown hair (like Irene) but it was curly (like Sherlock's) with blue eyes. Immediately the baby began to cry.

At the first cry of the baby, John began to panic. He needs something. What is it that baby's need? I should know this.

7:00am

John's eyes flew open as the alarm clock on his bedside table started to ring. He thought of the dream he had. It was the same dream every night but this time was different. Sherlock wasn't there. Instead there was a baby in his bed.

John dug the heels of his palms into his eyes. The dreams were torturous and now the pain in his leg was back. It's psychosomatic but telling himself doesn't make the pain go away.

Eventually John got up and got into the shower. 15 minutes later he was in the kitchen fully dressed and brewing tea. By 7:30 he was out the door headed for the tube station. By 8am he arrived at the clinic.

"Good morning John" Sarah greeted him like that every morning.

"Morning" then he made his way to his office.

His office was small but it was big enough to hold a desk on the wall opposite the door. On the wall to the left of the doorway was a small bookcase containing medical journals. On the other wall was a white board.

John sat down on his desk and buzzed to await his first patient. The first few patients were simple enough. They were all adults who were experiencing some pain of some form or other.

An hour before he was set to leave, his last patient turned out to be a 5 year old.

John walked into the patient room and saw the little girl nervously sitting on the bench with her mother.

"Well hi," John cheerfully greeted her.

The little girl didn't respond. She seemed to just shake a little more.

"Katy say hi to the doctor," her mother said.

After a pause and a look to her mom, Katy gave him a small hi.

"Katy huh? What a nice name," said John.

As expected, John didn't get a response.

"So what seems to be the problem?" he asked Katy.

Katy stopped looking at him and instead seemed to be deep in thought.

"Katy tell the doctor what hurts," said her mother.

Katy then looked up and tears were streaming down her face.

"Oh God" John whispered as her mother picked her up in her arms. John reached back and grabbed a tissue from the box. "I am so sorry."

"Don't be" Katy's mother said "you did nothing wrong. Katy?" Her mother asked sweetly.

After a couple minutes Katy's crying subsided and she spoke "I can't remember what hurts."

John looked at Katy's mother wondering what was going on here but Katy's mother just laughed and held Katy even more.

"Katy that's nothing to cry about." She said, "we only cry when we're in pain. Your knee hurt from playing football with your brothers remember?" The little girl smiled and nodded as she remembered.

They both turned back to John who then realized his mouth was wide open. Had that really just happened?

"It was the right knee."

"R-right. Got it," said John.

John examined the knee but besides a couple bruises there was nothing else.

"Oh thank God," said Katy's mother. "My boys can be a bit rough and you know how it is. When you're a parent you automatically assume the worst."

John shook his head "I'm not a parent."

"Oh. Well if you ever do become one, you get used to little breakdowns like this one all the time. I remember my oldest, Brian, once jumped down 4 stairs and fell at the bottom. I started imagining hospitals and every worst case scenario but he just got up and tried to do it again." Then she began laughing. John gave a halfhearted laugh then bid them farewell.

After that John was free to go. He kept his head down as he left out the front door and to the tube station.

As he turned the corner to his flat, he saw a familiar figure standing outside waiting.

John approached him and said "hello Mycroft"

"Evening John."

John walked past him to the front door and opened it with Mycroft following right behind him. When they reached the stairs, John let Mycroft go ahead of him. He was still self-conscious about his cane and his slow pace to climb 3 sets of stairs.

When they both reached the door of John's flat (John a few paces behind him), John let them both in. He went straight to the kitchen to put the kettle on while Mycroft sat in the living room.

Once the kettle boiled, John brought their teacups to the living room. Mycroft was sitting in the same spot Irene had sat in only the day before. John set the cup in front of Mycroft and then took the seat on the other side of the sofa just like the day before.

They each took a sip of their tea before Mycroft started with "so how was the clinic?"

John didn't answer. Mycroft didn't actually think him that stupid. Obviously he knew Irene had visited him (how? John could only imagine). "Don't play stupid with me Mycroft. You're obviously here about Irene."

They both went quiet a moment while Mycroft studied his tea. "Fine. So she's alive. Sherlock?"

John inhaled sharply. At first it felt as though Mycroft was asking if Sherlock was also alive but then John understood the question and they both spoke at the same time.

"John. My apologies. That wasn't what I meant-"

"Yes. Sherlock was behind Irene's fake death."

Again silence.

"So what did she want from you? Did she not know of ...Sherlock's death?"

"She knew."

"She didn't come by to give her condolences. She wouldn't risk her safety just for that."

"You didn't see her did you?" asked John. Mycroft was asking the wrong questions. He obviously had not seen her pregnant stomach. Of course she is only 4 and a half months.

"I saw the CCTV footage of her walking into your flat." So that's how he knew.

"And you didn't notice her stomach?"

Mycroft looked down at his cup in thought. "She's pregnant." John nodded. "Why would she...did you?...you and her?-"

"Why don't you just ask who the father is rather than making up all this gossip?"

"So if you aren't the father, who is?"

John had a feeling Mycroft already suspected but wanted to hear him say it. "It's Sherlock."

Mycroft's face remained unchanged. "She is a dominatrix. There could be others. Is she sure it's Sherlock? As far as I know my brother was never..."

"She's sure. She did a test. I have the papers here." John handed him one of the papers that Irene had left him the night before.

Mycroft looked over it. "And so she came to you to tell you? Does she want reparations from me?"

"She doesn't want anything from you...she...she wants me to be the father. To raise the baby."

"So she doesn't want to raise the child...have you agreed?"

"No. I haven't said yes or no."

"But you are going to say yes right?"

John looked at Mycroft questioningly. "Mycroft I'm in no state to raise a child. Financially. Emotionally. Psychologically..."

"I can help you financially. My brother had a large sum of money in his name from when my father passed away. It's yours now. It should have always been yours really."

John looked at him quizzically. "I-I thought he couldn't even afford a flat by himself."

"At the time that you met him, he couldn't. My brother had been clean for 4 months when you first met him. My mother gave me charge of my father's estate so I cut Sherlock off from his inheritance and gave him an allowance. Enough for him to live in a flat share. Then you came along and changed my brother for the better. After a few months of the two of you living together, he became clean for a year and I knew he wouldn't relapse because you wouldn't allow it so I reinstated him. Of course he died soon after...Now that money is yours."

"You took his inheritance away?"

"I thought it might provoke him to get clean but I was wrong. The only thing that got him clean was detective work. I told him the only way he could work was if he got clean...one night of withdrawals in a jail cell and he was done."

They were quiet for a while until John spoke. "Mycroft I cant accept your money. It's your family's."

"Let me put it to you this way," said Mycroft, "you are going to be adopting my brother's child. That would make me an uncle and you would be my brother. As far as I can tell, you would be family."

"Mycroft I haven't agreed-"

"But you will."

"What if I don't?"

Another pause.

"I imagine Irene will put the child in an orphanage. If the baby is my brother's, no family in England will soon adopt him. He will spend years in an orphanage driving everyone insane until he comes of age when he gets thrown out onto the streets to fend for himself... it's a harsh reality but it's how my brother turned out."

"So you want me to take him in...and fail?"

"That's the difference. You won't fail. You'd do anything and everything to make sure that wouldn't happen. Besides you have had experience with Sherlock and you did great with him."

"I raised the original Sherlock Holmes," said John quoting Irene from the day before. Mycroft just nodded in agreement. "But I'm not psychologically there. My limp is back and I can't seem to make it go away...I'm not father material."

"I think being a father might actually help you. You'd have a reason to carry on...I ...imagine you've contemplated suicide..."

John gave him an angry look. "You've been reading my psychiatric report again?"

"I...Greg...Lestrade asked me to keep an eye on you so I looked into your report..."

"So now everyone knows I did that."

"No. Lestrade knows not to mention that to anyone. We were both just worried about you...how are you doing now?"

"You should know since you read my file."

"I only read it that one time."

"And the time I first met you."

"Yes but that was so I could know who you were."

"Well next time, just ask me." John crossed his arms in finality.

"I'll make sure of that." Then he stood up to leave. "Whatever you choose to do, I'll stand behind it... you should ask your psychiatrist tomorrow and see what she thinks about this."

John paused and then got up to see Mycroft to the door.

Just as Mycroft crossed the threshold John said "it's a boy by the way. Just in case you wanted to know." Mycroft seemed unphased. "She wants to name him Hamish."

Mycroft pointed at him. "Your middle name?"

"It was a joke between the three of us...a joke at the time...for me."

Mycroft paused as though he wanted to say something consoling but just turned and walked away.


	3. Ch 3 Tuesday 10 July Year 1

Tuesday 10 July

John climbed the steps to 221B again. The violin played notes that were as sweet as ever.

3 steps...

2 steps...

Last step...silence

John crossed the threshold into the living room. It was all the same. The sofa. The bullet holes. The skull on the mantle. Even the familiar figure standing in front of the sunny window.

John's heart began to flutter because grey-blue eyes were fixed on him under dark curls. As he turned his focus on John, Sherlock smiled.

John took a step into the room. In three long strides, Sherlock crossed the room and grabbed John around the middle. He could feel the slender fingers make their way up his back and he shuddered in response. Sherlock rested his forehead on John's and inhaled his scent.

Next Sherlock pushed him up against the door of John's bedroom. The windows were now dark. How did they get up here? John didn't need to know. He just focused on the lips moving closer to his own.

Sherlock pushed closer still until he was flush against John's front. The only thing left was their lips…

John closed his eyes in anticipation…

9:00am

And then he wrenched them open at the sound of his alarm clock.

"Gah!" cried John in frustration. Frustration at his alarms imperfect timing. Frustration of having that dream again. Frustration at his hard on no doubt caused by the dream. Frustration at the pain in his leg.

John shut off the alarm and rolled his face into his pillow where he let out a muffled yell. It was 9am. No clinic but his psychiatrist appointment was in a couple hours.

John got into the shower and took care of his hard on. Once dressed, he sat at the table reading the newspaper. He skipped the hard-hitting news and instead just read the sports and entertainment sections.

11am John was sitting in his usual chair in front of Dr. Ella Adams.

"So, John. How are you feeling this week?"

"Fine"

"You said that last week but you caused quite a scare."

"Yes. Thank you for the search of my flat by the way," scoffed John.

"It was for your own protection. Your suicide attempt is a serious issue. Being alone on your birthday was not a smart choice."

"Does sticking a gun in your mouth really count as an attempt?"

"I treat it as such. You haven't tried again have you?"

"No"

"Okay then. Is there anything you wish to talk about?"

My dead flat mate that caused this mess left behind a child and now I'm being asked to step in for him. Also I can't go a night without dreaming of 221B. "Not really"

"So I guess we'll just pick up where we left off last week." She flipped through her notes. "You had just told me that you got home from work but then you accidentally went to Baker Street instead and when you got inside your flat, you put a gun in your mouth."

"There isn't much to say after that."

"I think there is. It was your birthday and you were lonely. You should have surrounded yourself with friends."

"I don't have friends," _...I've only got one_. John winced at the reference. He didn't even have that one.

"But you did have friends before Sherlock. Where are they?"

"Going about their lives or in the army."

"So you've just chosen to divorce yourself from friends."

"Pretty much."

"Were they friends of Sherlock and that's why you don't want to call on them?"

"Sherlock only had me. Every other person he met was dull to him."

"Well I think a night with some friends will do you good. I'll make that your assignment for the week."

John groaned. There were still so much time left in their session.

"Do you know what else triggered your incident last week besides the loneliness?"

John stayed silent.

"John, what did you do when you got to Baker Street?"

"I turned around and went back to the tube station."

"That's not true and you know it...I'm trying to help you John...what did you do? Or what did you see?"

John stayed silent another moment before he finally spoke. "I...I got to the corner of Baker street and that was when I realized my mistake..." he stayed silent again. It was too painful.

Ella stayed quiet giving John a chance to muster up the courage to vocalize what he had seen.

"As I turned around to go back to the tube station...I saw him...he was standing across the street...just...just standing there watching me..." John could feel the choked sob in his throat. "I stared back at him not moving...but...but then he took off down the block...then I started chasing him..."

"You ran after him?"

"Yes...the pain in my leg was gone...I got to the corner he had disappeared around but...he wasn't there...so I walked back to the tube station..."

"Without the cane?"

"Initially yes. But soon...I couldn't even lift my leg anymore so I stopped walking...and then resumed using the cane...once on the tube...every dark coat...every scarf-no matter the color- stood out to me...when I got to my flat...I took a hit of whiskey and grabbed my gun."

They sat silently while John composed himself again.

"John, imagining Sherlock is a perfectly sound reaction to his death-"

"But he looked so real." John was surprised that his voice had some sort of glee in it.

"It looks like that for a lot of people especially for those that have lost a spouse-"

"Spouse? That's not what we were."

"Fine. As close as the two of you were...have you given thought to what you never said to Sherlock?"

"I have..."

"And?"

"I don't know."

Ella let out a breath. "You need closure John. Admitting whatever you never got to tell him will give you that...how's the boxing class going?"

"It's good."

"Do you find it relieves your stress?"

"Kind of...but the feeling never lasts."

"Well...maybe it's better to have felt pleasure...even if it didn't last."

John looked at her curiously. What's she talking about? This wasn't about boxing anymore was it?

When John didn't say anything, just sat there confused, Ella gave up. "Well I think that's the end of our session for today. Is there anything else you wanted to say before you leave?"

John said no. His answer was always no.

"Alright then. I will see you next week John."

John left the office and made his way to his flat.

He opened the door and there stood Sherlock in the middle of his living room wearing his long black coat and blue scarf with his arms crossed.

_"Why didn't you tell her about Hamish?" _he demanded.

"Ugh. Not you again." John closed the door and dug the heels of his hands into his eyes.

_"It's not my fault. You're the one who keeps bringing me back here."_

"Please. I did not ask for this torture."

"_Well that still doesn't answer my question."_

"I don't know okay. Since when am I supposed to be the one that swoops in and saves everyone? Weren't you the one who once told me heroes don't exist?"

Sherlock paused a moment before speaking again. _"You are going to take him in."_

"Yeah and how would you know that?" John collapsed into his chair trying to make Sherlock go away.

"_I'm in your head, remember. Everything I say comes from your own imagination. Pretty dull I might add."_

John let out a low moan of exasperation before getting up and going to the kitchen and making a sandwich. He reached into the refrigerator and retrieved the necessary ingredients. Upon closing the door to the fridge, Sherlock appeared next to it.

"Would you stop with the creeping?" he exclaimed.

"_Again. Not my doing. Anyway we were talking about your session today. You and I both know you keep secrets from your therapist. I'm probably the only person who actually knows the truth."_

"Yeah because you're a personification of my own head. An annoying one - "

Sherlock interrupted him with_ " - Blame your own brain for that one."_

"Truth about what exactly?"

"_The truth that ever since your suicide attempt you haven't stopped seeing me."_

"She doesn't need to know all that. She'd have me committed in a heartbeat if she knew. I'm fine without her help on this."

"_Fine. I'll just keep spending my time in your head."_

John finished making his sandwich then went back to the living room to eat. The TV was on but John didn't pay any attention to it. It was just to keep Sherlock from appearing again and noise to fill the silent room.

5:00pm

John was at his boxing class in the gym he belonged to and his cane was stowed away in the gym locker along with the rest of his clothes.

Barry, the class instructor called out to everyone. "Everyone, pair up and set up next to a bag." The class was not very big. About 13 people. John stood towards the back hoping for an odd numbered class.

"Excuse me. Do you have a partner yet?" It was a woman, Cindy I think.

"Umm...no"

"Would you like to partner up?"

"Sh-sure."

"I think I saw an open spot over there."

He followed her to the side farthest from the door.

"I'm Cindy by the way."

"I'm John "

Luckily the awkward silence didn't last long because then Barry started the warm up. Next they moved onto jump ropes. The pain in John's leg was nagging but he tried his best to ignore it.

Next John held the bag for Cindy while she punched it. She kept her head down while John tried to deduce her. If Sherlock were here he would have figured out everything about her.

_"Yes I would have,"_ said the Sherlock in his head. _"Go on. You've seen what I do."_

You want me to make a fool of myself don't you?

_"I don't even have to try John."_

Fine. Where would I even start? Her clothes?

_"What about them?"_

They're ...new.

_"Good."_

So she's done her shopping. So what? That doesn't tell me much.

_"At least pretend to make the effort."_

Shut up. I'm trying over here…they're new…and expensive. She doesn't seem that posh.

_"Okay. Which means what?"_

Someone else bought them for her. A gift?

_"Deduce John!"_

Why do I even try with you? Why don't you just tell me the deduction?

_"Would if I could but you forget I'm in your head. I know as much about her as you do."_

Unbelievable.

"John it's your turn," said Cindy.

"Oh right."

John and Cindy switched places. He focused on each blow. Making sure to picture Sherlock's face crushing under each blow. _"Hey why me?"_ Because I can.

John paused a moment and realized Cindy had told him something. "Sorry?"

"I said we should probably wrap up here."

John looked around and realized the rest of the class was picking up their things. "Right."

Once out of there, John went to the locker room to take a shower. He let the water wash all over him hoping it would wash away more than just the sweat.

"_You know John, water doesn't have magical properties. I would have thought that as a medical professional you would have known that."_ Of course you're still here...or not here...this is an odd arrangement. "_I agree. I really don't like recycling phrases I said ages ago."_

John got dressed and left the gym. The London weather was particularly hot today. Luckily the sun was down which took the edge off.

John walked down the streets of London for a while. The Sherlock in his head luckily gave him time alone to just walk and think. His mind dwelled on what he had said earlier. _"You are going to take him in."_ It wasn't that simple. Becoming a single father? He never thought it would come to this. This wasn't just any child. This was Sherlock's. Who knows what sort of trouble that would bring?


	4. Ch 4 Tuesday 17 July Year 1

Tuesday 17 July

"Hamish…Hamish, where are you?"

John stands in the 221B kitchen looking around for the elusive Hamish. Where could he have gone? John has no idea. The kitchen needs some serious work though. Experiment equipment was everywhere. Not a good environment for a child.

He moves his way into the living room. The room has a soft glow from the early morning sun streaming through the windows. John checks under the table in the middle of the room.

Nothing.

Hamish wouldn't fit in the space between the wall and the sofa would he? John checks anyway.

Nothing.

He goes left into the dark hallway. No one in there, but the door to Sherlock's room is open. Rookie mistake.

He crosses the threshold and is careful not to step on the mess. If Hamish was hiding in the room, it would take a miracle to find him. John looks around the room. Everything seems out of order which makes it difficult to find what he's looking for.

John checks under the bed and instantly regrets it. No Hamish though.

The closet of course. Typical hiding place.

John makes his way to the closet door and somehow manages to make some space to open it.

"You found me!" The voice that meets John's ears sings to him sweeter than any voice he had heard lately.

In the closet stands five-year-old Hamish. On his olive colored face he wears a bright smile that stretches his cupid bow lips. His smile is matched with the brightness and joy in his blue eyes.

"Now it's your turn to hide dad." John's heart clenches at the sound. "Dad" not even in his dreams had anyone ever called him that.

John takes Hamish's face in his hands. The little boy was tall for his age but lanky in his body proportions. Although Hamish's limbs were long, his hands were small like that of a child his age. John brushes the dark brown curls from his son's face so he could see him even clearer. The beauty of him was beauty John had only seen once before in his life…

9:00am

John's alarm promptly began its incessant.

No dream this time? Yes there was. John thought long and hard about the dream. No matter how hard he tried, the beginning of the dream eluded him. There were some details though. He was searching 221B…and Hamish was there. John's breath hitched as he remembered what the little boy looked like. Curls like Sherlock, blue eyes and olive skin like Irene.

This was getting ridiculous. John dreamt about Hamish almost every night now. Hamish's appearance changed every time but the resemblance to his parents never changed. The weekends were the worst. His life was too boring to not have dreams. It seemed like his mind was rotting from sheer boredom and the only time it was actually stimulated was when he had to come up with a face for Hamish in his dreams.

John eventually rolled out of bed and walked into the bathroom. There he stood in front of the mirror over the sink. He took a good hard look at himself and sighed. John's face was deeply lined. It seemed that recent events had made him look much older than forty. His eyes told the story of how restless his nights were lately. The eyelids were puffy with colors ranging from purple to red.

His torso was a different story though. Having nothing to do on weekends, John frequented the gym more often. It was distracting enough but soon the pain in his leg would not be ignored any longer. The muscles on his chest were beginning to tone as well as the muscles on his arms. A couple more months of this lifestyle and he would have his soldier body back.

He stepped into the shower and 20 minutes later was dressed and brewing tea. Still an hour before the therapist and he let his mind wander. As soon as he did that he immediately regretted it.

"_So is today the day you tell your therapist about Hamish or are you planning on keeping her in the dark until November?"_

John let out a groan as he shut his eyes and banged his head on the kitchen table. He didn't move knowing that if he did he'd be greeted by the sight of the consulting detective.

"Go away."

"_Was that a yes or a no? It's a simple enough question."_

"Don't you think if it was that simple I would have already solved the problem?"

"_You were never really the brains of the operation so to speak."_

"Aren't you chipper this morning?"

"_Well one of has to be. You've been wallowing all week."_

"Oh I'm sorry. What exactly am I supposed to be chipper about? My job? Fatherhood? Boxing class?"

"_So are you going to tell her or not?"_

"If it comes up. Happy?"

"_It's not my happiness you should be thinking about."_

John didn't answer but neither did Sherlock. Slowly John raised his head. He was gone. Not a trace left behind.

John grabbed his things and headed out the door to the doctor's office.

At 11am he was once again sitting in his familiar chair across from Dr. Ella.

"So John, how are you feeling this week?"

Like my life has no direction. I'm bored out of my mind. I wake up every morning waiting for my maker. "I'm...okay I guess."

"You had an assignment for the week. Did you do it?"

"Not really. I did see people…but probably not in the way you were asking for."

"John, it's important that you make connections with other people. You seem withdrawn and surrounding yourself with others will honestly help you. I'm not asking that you grab a bunch of friends and throw a party but just a conversation or a get together with _a_ friend is a step in the right direction."

John nodded that he understood. It just wasn't that easy. She wasn't going to let this go until he followed through.

"Are you sleeping well?" she asked probably noticing the circles around his eyes. "I remember when you got back from the war, you suffered from nightmares. Are those still happening?"

"I dream...but it's not always about the war."

"What else do you dream about? Can you recall?"

This is it isn't it? Admitting to his therapist about Hamish. It had been over a week now and the little boy still haunted his dreams. John could already hear Sherlock's snide comments in his head. "I...dream about Sherlock's son."

Ella's eyebrows shot up in surprise. It was all the emotion she would ever allow as a professional. "Sherlock had a son? How old is he?"

"He hasn't been born yet."

"So, Sherlock left behind a pregnant girlfriend…" she prompted.

"I guess so. I don't know how serious it was between them but apparently enough to impregnate her...he even saved her life so there must have been something there..."

"And you have dreams about their child. How are you feeling about your best friend becoming a father?"

"He's dead. He won't ever be a father."

"Okay but...pretend for a minute that he was. How would his becoming a father effect you?"

"He still wouldn't be. Sherlock was not the father type. Irene isn't the mothering type either."

"So if Sherlock were alive, he wouldn't go off and live with this...Irene is it?...Irene to make it work for their child?"

John felt exasperated. All of these supposed scenarios were not going to happen. "I don't know," he said as he covered his face with his hands.

"I only ask because you don't seem that happy about your friend being a father."

"That's because I've been asked to be the father."

Again Ella's eyebrows shot up. "You're going to adopt your friend's child?"

"I haven't said yes. You of all people should know just how bad of an idea that is."

Ella stayed quiet for a minute just thinking and watching John. John began to feel uncomfortable. He had enough silence in his flat (when Sherlock wasn't around) he didn't need it here as well. He was about to break the silence when Ella finally spoke.

"John, bear with me for a minute. At this point in time, how do you see your life in 30 years?"

John thought about it. "I...would probably be retired or something...maybe still living in London...maybe do some travelling?" The last part was a question. It seemed pitiful to only picture himself retired and in London.

"You don't see yourself married or maybe having a family?"

"Not sure. When I got back from the war, I thought that was a possibility but now I don't know."

"Okay...now imagine that you do adopt this child. What do you think your life would look like in 30 years?"

Again John thought about it seriously. "I think...well I would still retire...umm...maybe still be living in London." His life had to be different right? A son with a life of his own. How would that effect him? "Not living in London exactly, maybe living wherever he lives or traveling often to where he lives. In 30 years my...my son would have gone to school and gotten a degree in something and became successful...I could be a father-in-law in 30 years, maybe even a grandfather by then..." John stayed silent after that, letting his daydream of his life finish playing out.

Ella spoke next, "How do you feel now?"

"I feel...hopeful?"

"Hopeful. Hopeful is good. Hopeful is better than what I've been getting from you."

John was stunned by his own daydream and her comments. "You're not suggesting I should do this are you?"

"It's a tough call John. On one hand, yes you are a shell of your former self but you have been down this route before. You were in a similar scenario when you got back from the war…actually, if I'm being honest, this is worse than that. Back then, you at least saw yourself as a family man, getting married, having children, living life, but now…you don't have Sherlock to save you from yourself."

John stopped looking at her. Instead he looked down at his hands realizing that there was a slight tremble to them. He didn't want to admit just how right she was. "Even if that were true…a child – Sherlock's child is not going to fix it."

"Maybe or maybe not. Your current mindset seems to be that you wake up every morning waiting for the day when your life is over. I can't be certain but I think it's because you no longer have something in your life to bring you happiness."

At that John started to laugh. How long had it been since he'd done that? "Sherlock was a pain in the arse not happiness."

"Am I right in saying that having him in your life gave you a thrill?"

John stayed silent. When it looked as though John was not going to answer, Ella spoke again.

"John, why is it so hard for you to admit any feelings about Sherlock? We have established that he was your best friend and he was exciting but, you say nothing more than that."

"Because there is nothing more than that."

"You wouldn't be sitting here if there wasn't more."

John thought about all the intimate thoughts he had had about Sherlock and about all the times he sat alone in his flat listening to the ramblings of the consulting detective in his mind. Surely she didn't want to know about all that.

"Look," she said. "A baby is a big commitment and I don't want you to rush into something but being a parent is a lot of work, it's challenging, and above all, it's rewarding."

"But me? A single parent?"

"Lots of people are single parents. Is it that you aren't financially able?"

"Sort of…"

"But if you really tried, you'd manage?"

"Yes."

"Well alright then, financial ability is not the issue. Would you feel angry towards this child or his mum?"

John immediately answered, "No. I have no reason to dislike them." He wasn't sure if that was convincing enough.

"Right…well our time is almost up now. When do you have to make a decision about this?"

"First week of September."

"Okay so we still have some time. Also, John, don't forget to reconnect with a friend. I want to hear all about it next week."

John nodded and bid her farewell as he made his way out of the office. He hobbled off to the tube and back to his flat for lunch. When he reached the front door, he hesitated opening it knowing what waited for him on the other side. Sherlock hardly ever appeared when other people were around but he was always lingering in the edges of his mind.

John couldn't delay it any longer. He pushed open the door and sure enough Sherlock was there with his incessant chatter about how it wasn't that bad. John somehow managed to tune him out enough to make himself lunch.

When he was finished he thought he should get started on his assignment. He picked up his phone and looked through his contacts. They consisted of ex-girlfriends, a couple of army buddies, and people who knew Sherlock. When he got to the S's, his breath clenched a bit.

Sherlock's number was no longer in his phone and he could recall exactly when that had happened. It had taken John a week after the fall to come to terms with Sherlock's suicide and when he had, all of his anger rushed out of him. He broke a couple of beakers from the kitchen and was about to move onto breaking the violin when he stopped himself. Tears ran down his face and landed on the unblemished wood of the violin. When his shuddering had finally subsided, he looked around the room and realized that everything in there had some sort of attachment to Sherlock and that waking up to that would eventually drive him insane. It was then that he had decided to move out. He picked up his phone to call an agency he had found online when he noticed Sherlock's number. His name sat at the top of his messaging list due to all of the messages they had frequently sent each other. After staring at the name for so long, he knew the only thing he could do was to erase the number. It had seemed like a good idea initially but once it was gone, all he wanted to do was send an apologetic text message to Sherlock. But that wasn't a possibility. Eventually that was what drove him to Dr. Ella in the first place.

John continued scrolling through the contacts and decided to call someone from the army. He dialed an ex army friend, Grier Garner. John listened to the ringing but it just ended up going to voicemail. John made a split second decision and decided not to leave a message.

Next he tried a friend from medical school, Micheal Colquhoun but found that the number no longer worked. John sighed as he deleted the number. This was turning out to be more trouble than it was worth.

He got up and put the kettle on to make tea when his phone began to ring. Maybe it was Grier calling him back, he thought. A look at the caller ID told him it was Lestrade.

"Greg?"

"Hey John. Just wanted to check in and see how you were doing."

"Oh. Well I'm doing fine. How's the Yard?"

"Fine…It's good."

"Is being a constable treating you well?" John knew Lestrade had taken a huge blow to his career when it was decided that Sherlock was a fake.

"Umm…well it could be worse." Lestrade gave a small chuckle.

Maybe I should meet with Lestrade. He's a good enough fellow, thought John. "Hey Greg, I have to go to the gym in a minute but would you like to catch up say later on tonight?"

"I have an appointment tonight actually but I'm available this Saturday?"

"That sounds great. We can do drinks around 4?"

Lestrade agreed and they said their goodbyes as John made his way out of the flat and in the direction of the tube station.

Once his cane and clothing were stashed in the locker room, John waited in the boxing class for the instructor, Barry, to start the class.

"Oh hi John." It was the girl from last week, Cindy.

"Hi Cindy."

She started chatting as John just listened and gave the occasional chuckle when it was needed.

Soon enough, Barry started the warm-up. John followed along and concentrated on the task at hand. Then it was time for partner practice and like the week before, John held the bag for Cindy.

Oddly enough, Sherlock did not have anything to say. Maybe admitting to his therapist about Hamish had silenced him. Soon Cindy switched with John.

"So, John," said Cindy. "I was wondering if maybe you wanted to go get some dinner after this?"

John stopped his punching to look at Cindy and ponder the question. "Dinner?"

"Yeah, not like a date or anything." _'I'm not his date'_ thought John. "Well…unless you want it to be."

"Umm…dinner, as friends sounds great."

John continued his punching and was grateful for the personal victories all in one day. Of course the more he thought about it, the more he realized just how pitiful his accomplishments were.

6:30pm

John made his way to the locker room to wash up for dinner with Cindy. Once he had dressed himself he realized Cindy didn't know he had a cane. He considered leaving the cane in his gym bag but after a few paces to the door he decided it wasn't going to happen. John only hoped Cindy would see it as a conversation starter.

Once outside the locker room, he spotted Cindy immediately. When she spotted him, her eyes widened in shock. She was obviously not expecting the cane. Thankfully she didn't mention it and they agreed on a restaurant called Scenery.

Once there, they were seated in a booth and handed menus containing a range of English foods. John stayed quiet until Cindy finally broke the silence with questions about John's profession. When she heard the words "former army doctor", she seemed to assume the reason for the cane and did not ask further on the question.

John also learned about Cindy. She was originally from Birmingham but came to London to work as a Historian. She talked about how she had just gotten out of an unhealthy relationship with a rich older man (that explains the work out clothing, thought John). Dinner with Cindy turned out to be more entertaining than he expected. She was more of a talker which gave John an excuse to just sit and listen about her life rather than his own. When they were done, they exchanged numbers at Cindy's suggestion and parted ways, promising to see each other the next week in boxing class.

When John was in the comfort of his flat, he let the events of the day wash over him. If he had told his morning self that he was going to actually be able to bear a Tuesday, John would have never believed himself. True, his problems were far from over but perhaps a side step in the right direction was all he needed.


	5. Ch 5 Saturday 21 July Year 1

Saturday 21 July

John was on Baker Street again but not in his familiar flat. He was in 221A, Mrs. Hudson's flat, looking for her. Panic spread through him as he searched all the rooms but there was no sign of her anywhere. Just as he was about to check 221B and ask Sherlock if he'd seen her, Mrs. Hudson walked through the front door in a panic.

"John," her eyes were wide with fright and tears were in her eyes. "Why aren't you with Sherlock? He needs you."

The panic changed into adrenaline and just as John was about to start climbing the stairs to 221B, Mrs. Hudson caught his arm and pushed him out the front door.

John was expecting to see Baker Street but instead he was on the rooftop of St. Bart's. He looked around finding no one else on the roof. Why would Mrs. Hudson send me here, he thought. After a few moments of fruitless searching, John turned to head downstairs but gave one last look to the rooftop. What he saw had not been there moments prior.

Sherlock stood on the edge of the rooftop facing John. His arms were spread out at his sides and his eyes were closed. John sprinted to him and tried to catch him but it was too late. Sherlock fell backwards off the building. John dove after him and awaited the crash of the pavement.

The crash never came. Instead, when he opened his eyes again he stood in front of a grave marked "Sherlock Holmes". John felt the uncontrollable sob roll through his chest and escape his lips…

John rolled once more before finally tearing his eyes open. He lay still for a few minutes trying to get his breathing back under control and willing the painful throbbing in his leg to go away. Once his breaths came in a relatively steady rhythm, John took note of how damp his face was. He had been crying in his sleep again.

He reached over to his nightstand for a tissue and read the clock as well. 11:45, Saturday morning. He wiped his eyes with the tissue then firmly shut them. His mind instantly took him back to the roof of St. Bart's. John tore his eyes open again not wanting to relive his nightmare. He lay in bed, for what felt like hours, letting his emotions get the best of him.

A few minutes after 12, John decided that his plan to have drinks with Lestrade was probably not going to happen. He tested his voice a couple of times to make sure it sounded even and convincing enough to talk to Lestrade before picking up his mobile off of the nightstand.

Lestrade answered on the second ring. "Hey John, we're still on for 4 right?"

"About that. I don't know if today's a good day for that."

"Jesus, John, you sound awful. Are you alright?"

John winced. Apparently his efforts had been futile. "I'm just having a bad day– "

"Say no more, I'm on my way."

"That's really not necessary. I haven't gotten out of bed. I haven't even cleaned my flat."

"I'm going to stop by Tesco first and I'll be over at around 2:30."

John groaned before finally giving in. When he ended the call, John pulled a pillow over his face and screamed in frustration. Why did he always let his nightmares effect his day? Watching Sherlock fall off the roof of St. Bart's had been a regular occurrence in the week following Sherlock's death but it had now been a month and the sight still hurt as though he had lived it moments ago.

Eventually John got out of bed and took a shower. Once he was dressed, he began tidying up his flat. John made his bed with expert precision; making sure the duvet lay completely straight on the mattress. Next he wiped down the countertops in the kitchen until they shined. John's need for cleanliness and order had stemmed from a history of being a doctor and having a soldier for a father. Being neat and orderly was bred into him from the start. Harry, his sister, had been more rebellious to the lessons. On the rare occasion that John visited her, the disarray of her living space disgusted him. Neatness had never been Harry's strong suit and it seemed it never would be.

John put the kettle on and just as it had come to a boil, a knock sounded at his door. He opened it and let Lestrade into his kitchen. Lestrade had two shopping bags in each hand and John helped him unpack.

Lestrade had bought a case of beer, bangers, mash, and baked beans. They put everything away and John got their teacups ready.

"You can just go into the living room and I'll be in with the tea," said John. "Just don't mind the dust. I didn't get a chance to do that room."

Lestrade went into the living room and said, "I don't know what mess you're referring to. This place looks spotless."

John gave a little smile to himself even though no one was around to see. Greg was obviously lying to save his feelings. He was feeling a bit better than he was when he woke up. Sherlock was still lingering in his thoughts but John didn't let it overpower him.

Once the tea was ready, John dropped two sugars in one and in the other, adding a splash of milk. He then carried them into the living room on saucers. Lestrade was sitting on the couch watching TV when John put his teacup down in front of him. He then started telling him all about a match of Chelsea versus Newcastle United that would be starting at 5.

Lestrade picked up his tea and took a sip, then made a face of disgust. "Sorry John. I don't take sugar in my tea."

Crack! John broke his teacup as he put it down too hard on his saucer. Lestrade and John began exclaiming and talking over each other.

"John, are you alright? Are you hurt?..."

"Greg, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to…"

John then dropped the remnants of his teacup and saucer on the floor as he balled up his hands and covered his eyes with them.

"John," Lestrade was tentative to speak. "John, look at me. Are you alright?"

Eventually John got his breathing normal and dropped his hands. "I'm fine."

Lestrade's eyes widened when he saw that tears had begun to form in John's eyes. "What just happened?..."

John looked away. The truth was too embarrassing.

"Look, I get that you're having a bad day but maybe talking about it might help." Again John didn't answer. Lestrade didn't speak as the seconds ticked by while John's milky tea seeped into the carpet at their feet.

John steeled himself up and decided to tell Lestrade. Worst case would be that he would tell him to just get over it.

He kept his face blank and his voice as even as he could. "I…I'm sorry about the sugar, it's just that…I made a mistake."

Lestrade eyed him with confusion. "You made a mistake…and so you broke your cup because of it?"

John nodded.

"I'm not following. I get that you may be a perfectionist but this is strange even for you."

John took a deep breath and then got to the heart of the matter. "There was only one person I knew who took two sugars in their coffee and tea…I must have…I don't know…" John buried his face in his fists again in anger. Why me, he thought. Sherlock had a specific tea order and John had always been the one who had made it for him. Just when he thought he had driven Sherlock from his mind his subconscious reminded him of the way he took his tea. When he had realized his mistake John had been overcome with grief and shock to the point where now his teacup lay on the floor in pieces.

"Hey, look it's okay. I get it. Why don't we get this cleaned up?"

Lestrade picked up the pieces and put them in the trash. Then he refilled the kettle and began boiling the water again. John grabbed a cleaner from under the sink and began wiping away the milky tea remnants from the carpet.

When it was all cleaned up and they were waiting only for the water to boil, Lestrade clapped his hands together and said, "I know what we should do." He then went over, grabbed his briefcase, and pulled out a case file.

John immediately began shaking his head. "No. I am not helping you and that's final." A couple weeks following Sherlock's death, Lestrade had asked for John's help on a case but John had refused. Even though Sherlock had been ruled a fraud, Lestrade was one of the few people who still believed in Sherlock's ability but it was just that; Sherlock's ability, not John's.

"Come on," he whined.

"Greg, I'm an army doctor not a consulting detective. If you haven't figured it out then I sure won't be able…" John's voice trailed off as he looked at the figure standing over Lestrade's shoulder. John tried keeping his face as even as possible. Lestrade had seen enough of his damaged psyche for one day; he did not need another surprise. Luckily the kettle boiled just then and it gave him an excuse to turn around and start brewing the tea. Behind him he could hear Lestrade spreading out the case file on his countertop. Once the tea was brewed, John turned around to hand Lestrade his cup but sloshed a bit of it on the floor as he did so.

"_A bit jumpy aren't you,"_ said Sherlock.

John reminded himself not to answer. Sherlock was not actually in the room, only in his head. He gave Lestrade his teacup and let him pour his own milk.

Lestrade took a sip of his tea before diving into the case. "So this woman, Angela Chamberlain, very posh, visits a farm, about an hour from here, and she cuts herself. They managed to clean the wound but her staff say she still got some sort of infection?"

"Tetanus?"

"That's the one. So she got sick, then 3 days later she's dead in her bedroom. Her doctors say the tetanus cut off her breathing."

John's mind started working. He didn't actually want to help Lestrade but the look in Lestrade's eye told him just how much he needed John's help.

Sherlock's silky voice in his ear brought him back to the case, _"If she died of tetanus, why is this a case?"_

"You don't think she died of tetanus?"

Lestrade considered his question, "There was something not right about the case. When we found the body, she was just lying in bed. I asked if someone had moved her body but the staff assured me they had not touched her. If she had suffocated due to her illness, wouldn't she have put up some sort of struggle? Or perhaps try to signal someone? The other officers didn't think so but..."

John considered it all for a moment then said, "I think you might be right."

Lestrade eyes widened, "Really?"

"On average, tetanus needs 8 days to incubate in the body before any symptoms begin to show…"

"But then why would her doctor's say she was showing signs of infection?"

John looked at the picture of the woman's wound. _"Why indeed, John?"_ hummed the voice in his ear. The wound looked absolutely clean. Contracting tetanus in 3 days was not unheard of. _"She died on the third day. She was showing symptoms of being infected much earlier than that."_ True. It must not have been tetanus at all then.

"Greg, I don't think she had tetanus. Didn't the coroner run tests to make sure?"

"We had her doctor's report from before she died. There was no need for an autopsy."

John paused to look at him and began to shake his head. "I don't think she ever had tetanus. She might have just gotten a cold by the look of these symptoms. Yes, tetanus does cause the vocal chords to spasm and close off the breathing but that would be much further down the line. You should look into it more. Foul play may have been involved."

"Foul play? Why do you say that?"

"In this picture," John showed him the photograph of the woman lying on her back. "There was a scarf on the bed with her."

Lestrade gave him a questioning look as though he did not follow the logic.

"She's in her pajamas, Greg. Why would she need a scarf in bed? Also, in this picture," John showed him the photograph of the woman's upper body. "Her neck is flushed. That could be from her struggle to breathe because of the vocal chord spasm or because someone strangled her. Most likely with the scarf."

Lestrade couldn't help but smile at John. It felt just like old times. One look around the kitchen and John could see Lestrade and Sherlock scanning over the case file. But it felt all wrong. It was not 221B and Sherlock was not actually there.

The game was going to start in an hour so Lestrade put the file away and the two of them got to work making dinner. By five o'clock, they were sitting in front of the television watching the football match with a plate of bangers, mash, and baked beans. They watched and drank their beers and by the end of the match, John had forgotten how upset he had been that morning.

7pm and Chelsea had won, 2 goals to none. Rather than part ways, Lestrade suggested they go to the pub they were originally supposed to meet at. The two of them made the five-minute walk to the Olden Flood House. The crowd from the pub was just emptying into the street since the football match was over. John and Lestrade managed to get their drinks and find a table. They sat silently drinking in the noisy pub for a few minutes before Lestrade finally spoke.

"Feeling better?"

"Yes actually. I'd probably still be in bed had you not come along."

Lestrade beamed, "Well glad I could help."

"I wish I could do more to help you...you know...with your demotion and all."

The smile on Lestrade's face withered a bit. "Oh that. I'll be fine." His voice did not sound very convincing. "You know, Sherlock's brother, Mycroft offered to help me but I didn't take it. You know how that is."

John nodded. The police force was just like the military. You had to pay your dues to get to the top. There are no shortcuts and even if you did manage to find one, your subordinates would never respect you. "I'm sure Mycroft was only trying to help. He doesn't know how police ranking works...only how politics work." Lestrade agreed and took a drink.

"How...how's your wife?" John was a bit tentative about asking. He knew they had been having problems for so long and the blow to his career must have done even more damage.

"She's doing well. So is Maggie...I think." Maggie was Lestrade's only daughter and at the mention of her, Lestrade winced. John could only imagine what the girl was going through. Having her parents constantly fighting must be hard on her.

"How old is she now?"

"Eleven. She'll be starting secondary school this fall."

John nodded and took a drink. He let his eyes glaze over as he thought about Hamish someday going to secondary school. The little boy with dark curls and grey blue eyes walking into the building with a giant stack of books in his arms. John unconsciously realized he had just imagined what Sherlock must have looked like when he was eleven.

"John...John..."

John raised his eyes to meet Lestrade's and refocused them. He had not realized he had been ignoring Lestrade. "Sorry..."

"You seem pretty distracted. Is this about this morning?"

John sighed. Lestrade was going to know sooner or later. "No, it's not that. I was just thinking about...Sherlock...he has a son."

Lestrade's eye pinched at John's words. "Sherlock has a son? Did he know about this?"

"He hasn't been born yet and no I don't think he knew."

Lestrade let out a long sigh. "I didn't even know he had a girlfriend. I always thought the two of you were involved – "

"We were not," John felt the old exasperation from having to tell people the nature of his relationship to Sherlock Holmes.

"Alright, alright. Who's the girl anyway?"

"Irene Adler. I don't think you know her."

"The name sounds familiar."

"She's been in a couple of political scandals so she's made the paper a few times."

"Uh huh," Lestrade rubbed his chin as he tried to think. "So she's going to raise a miniature Sherlock Holmes." At that Lestrade began to laugh. "Good luck to her." Lestrade picked up his glass to clink against John's in agreement. John did not move. Instead he just averted his eyes from Lestrade.

When Lestrade saw John's reaction he immediately started apologizing. "I am so sorry. That was insensitive – "

John cut him off before he could go further. "It's fine. That's not – that's not why...She's not raising him. I am. Well, actually, I haven't decided – "

Lestrade cut him off. "Wait, you're raising Sherlock's son?"

"I haven't agreed to anything yet – "

"But you've considered it?"

"Yes, but – "

"Jesus! John, congratulations!"

"What?!" John was not following Lestrade's logic here. He had heard himself say he had not adopted anyone yet.

Lestrade carried on with his congratulations. "I always saw you as a family man. To be honest, I never thought it'd be Sherlock Holmes' child."

"Wait. Wait. I just said I had not agreed to adopting yet."

"But you are going to right?"

There it was again, just like Sherlock had implied the week prior. "I don't know yet. I haven't decided anything."

"John, this is Sherlock's son. For as long as I've known you, you've never shied away from protecting Sherlock Holmes. Why should his son be any different?"

"But...Me? A father?"

"Look around you. There are crap fathers everywhere. Just look at me. That doesn't mean our hearts aren't in the right places. Besides, living with Sherlock was like raising a child so you've already got plenty of practice for whatever nature plans to throw at you. All you need to do is nurture him into a productive member of society and he might just be better than his father."

John considered Lestrade's words. For some reason he actually felt better hearing it put that way. Being entrusted to raise a child was the easy part. Molding, shaping, and nurturing a child would be the challenge.

"Well whatever you choose to do, god help you. Raising a kid is hard work but you have experience in battle. You'll be fine."

John let out a sigh of relief and let out a chuckle to which Lestrade joined in. Then they both raised their glasses and made a toast.

"To Sherlock's kid."

"Hamish."

"You have a name for him already?"

"It's what his parents would have wanted."

Lestrade eyed him then said, "To Hamish."

After that, the evening became a blur of laughter and alcohol. It was nearly 11pm when they both made their way out of the Olden Flood House. They parted ways on the curb as Lestrade climbed into a cab to take him home.

John waved at him as Lestrade climbed in and said, "Thanks for today by the way."

"S'no problem" said Lestrade as his eyes drooped a bit from inebriation. "Say hi to your boy for me…uhh…'amish, that's it. Say hi to him."

John was in no state to correct Lestrade so he just said, "I will."

The cab pulled away from the curb and John turned to walk to his flat. When he got there, he drank a glass of water, threw his cane aside, and dumped himself onto his bed. The alcohol in his system kept trying to pull him into sleep but John fought it. He didn't want to have nightmares. It was well past midnight before John could no longer hold off his weariness.


	6. Ch 6 Tuesday 24 July Year 1

Tuesday July 24

John lay on his familiar bed watching the sun stream through the window in his room. The dust particles illuminated by the sun floated in the air before settling on the floor.

He got up and made his way down the stairs. From the kitchen he could already hear the banging of lab equipment followed by the hissing of chemicals reacting.

Once he reached the doorway of the kitchen, John saw Sherlock wearing goggles bent over a petri dish watching a reaction unfold. Once the chemicals had completely reacted Sherlock removed his goggles and smiled in John's direction.

John held his gaze and eventually returned the smile. Sherlock didn't say a word but he tilted his head in the direction of the hallway. John obeyed the command and went to the doorway.

The hallway was exaggeratedly long but eventually he reached the doorway to the nursery. John pushed open the door and walked in. The walls of the nursery were ivory colored and the carpet was a light brown color. The curtains on the two windows of the room were a pastel colored purple. Across from the doorway sat the crib with its pale lavender colored blankets.

John looked to his left and saw Sherlock sitting in a rocking chair with a bundle of blankets in his arms. Sherlock looked completely at ease holding a baby. The look in his eyes as he watched the child was that of love, tenderness, and wonderment. John moved closer as Sherlock continued to rock the sleeping child back and forth. He never lost his concentration on the pair of them as he moved ever so slowly.

He only tore his gaze away from them when there came a loud buzzing noise from behind him. John turned around to see what it was but there was nothing there. He turned back around but Sherlock and the baby were gone. He looked around but he was completely alone.

It wasn't long after when John lay in the bed of his flat, completely awake this time. He reached over to his bedside table to retrieve the mobile that had caused his dream to go awry. It was a text from Lestrade.

"_We have enough evidence to get him. We're arresting him this morning. Thanks for everything."_

Lestrade had turned up Sunday morning with a painful hangover inquiring about the case file he had left behind. He told John all about his plan to tell the chief of police about the theory John had come up with. The next day, after an autopsy and some more police work, Angela Chamberlain's doctor became their primary suspect. It seemed that now her doctor would be going down for murder.

John replied to his message before replacing his mobile. The curtains in his room let in just a small crack of sunlight. In the beam of light, hundreds of molecular sized dust particles caught fire before landing on the ground and on his bed. Disgusted, John quickly got out of bed, balled up his bed coverings and put them in his laundry hamper. Next he grabbed the vacuum and began to get rid of the dust in the room. A final dusting of all the objects in his room as well as putting the bed covers on, and John finally let himself relax.

After having a cup of tea and getting ready, he set off for his doctor's appointment. The woman behind the counter didn't check him in this time. She had seen him regularly enough to know who he was. 11am on the dot, she waved him into the doctor's therapy room. John sat across from Dr. Adams and exchanged their regular pleasantries before formally starting their session.

"So, John, how are you feeling this week?"

For the first time in a while, John was able to answer truthfully. "I'm doing well actually."

"Good. That is good. Did you complete your assignment for the week?"

"Yes. Twice actually."

"Oh. Who were they?"

"There was Cindy from my boxing class. She invited me to dinner afterwards. And another friend of mine, Greg, came over on Saturday."

"What did you and Greg do?"

"I helped him with his work, watched a football match, then we went down to a pub."

"And how did you feel after either of those encounters?"

John took a moment to think back, "With Cindy, I didn't have to say much. She did all the talking and I just listened. That was nice I guess. I didn't have to talk about myself. With Greg it was different. I was going to spend the day in bed but then he showed up and helped me…stop wallowing."

"Why were you wallowing in the first place?"

John paused and thought about it. He didn't trust the therapist enough to just tell her everything but she'd know if was lying. The bare minimum would suffice for now. "I had a nightmare where I watched Sherlock die again…"

"And Greg's presence helped you?"

"I believe so, yes."

"Well that is good. Maybe from here on out, you can interact with people without it having to be an assignment."

Next, Ella flipped through her notes and found what she was looking for. "So, have you come up with a decision about Sherlock's son?"

"No."

"Okay but you aren't leaning more towards one decision than another?"

"I…" John began but the words died. He wasn't sure if telling his therapist that somehow Lestrade had gotten him to sway his decision was something he wanted to admit. Eventually John began again, "I was talking to Greg about it on Sunday and he helped me open up to the idea more."

"Oh. Did he know Sherlock?"

"Yes. Greg works for the police and Sherlock would assist him on cases."

"So you told Greg about Sherlock's son? What did he think?"

"Just as stunned as I was. We didn't think Sherlock was that kind of person. It seems no one had him figured out."

"Well rather than dwell on who Sherlock was, why don't you think about what you're going to do with the child and girlfriend he left behind?"

John breathed out a sigh. What was he going to do? He could not turn the child out on the street but he couldn't be a father either. Wait. There's a bigger problem here. "Wait – why do I have to be the one to fix his mistakes?"

"I don't know. Why are you fixing his mistakes?"

John looked at her dark eyes hoping she held some sort of answer but she didn't let any emotion slip past her. Eventually John shrugged his shoulders in resignation. "I have no idea. Should I not help them then?"

"It isn't my decision to make John. It's yours. Can you choose to say no to this woman and just walk away from them both? Or, are you going to step in and care for the child?"

John looked down at his feet on the floorboards. This was difficult. Every part of him told him the logical answer was to just walk away. It wasn't his child to worry about. Sherlock was only his flat mate after all. Yet there was still a small part of him somewhere that said he could not turn Hamish away and for some reason this part of him was louder than the rest. It threatened to overtake his logical mind. "He was my flat mate. I shouldn't have to be the one making this decision."

"So why have you told people and considered it for over a week?"

"Because…because the news came as a shock?" John wasn't sure what the answer to her question was but he just said the first thing that came to mind.

"If an army friend of yours came to you and asked you to be the father of their child, would you react differently?"

John thought about Grier Garner. They were never exactly close but they did manage to get along. Fathering Grier's child? "I don't know really. My army mates and I were never really close so they wouldn't come to me."

"So what you're saying is that you and Sherlock were so close his girlfriend came to you instead of going to his family-"

"She wasn't his girlfriend!" John cried before he was able to stop himself. A stunned silence held them both in place. John calmly got his breathing under control while Dr. Adams tried to figure out how to move forward.

"Umm…okay so she wasn't his girlfriend. Why does it bother you to think that she may have been his girlfriend?"

"It doesn't bother me, you just said it wrong. She was not his girlfriend."

"Alright but we do know they were intimate and you seem to have a problem with that."

John turned away at the mention of Sherlock and Irene's one night stand. When he was finally able to admit to himself that he did have a problem with it, he asked, "Why do you think I have a problem with it?"

"You get angry at the mention of the woman carrying the child and you show some obvious dislike towards thinking of her and Sherlock together."

John looked down at the floorboards while rubbing his chin. Eventually he asked, "Okay but why am I angry?"

"I can't really tell you, John. That's for you to find out for yourself. We'll pick up here next week."

They both stood up and parted ways. John left the office feeling worse than when he went in. Weren't therapists supposed to lighten the load not add to it? So what if he was angry with Sherlock. And Irene. And their unborn child. He had good reason too. Why did he have to die and ruin everything?

He sighed knowing that wasn't what he really meant. He really wished Sherlock had not died but the unborn child had nothing to do with any of that. He was a victim.

John limped over to a nearby deli for lunch. He ordered and took a seat outside on the sidewalk. He watched the city move around him, leaving him behind.

Some time after John finished his meal, a woman with blonde hair and a small child approached the deli. The boy could not have been more than 4 years old. The line to the deli extended outside, which meant the woman, and the boy stood in line next to John's table. The woman was furiously talking into her phone and not paying attention to the boy.

The little boy had blonde hair and bright green eyes just like his mom. He looked around the shop, then up and down the street. All children must be that curious at that age, thought John. Soon the little boy's eyes were looking right at him. John sat still not knowing how he was supposed to respond. The boy cocked his head to one side and studied him for a minute more before his face split into a wide grin.

John had no idea what he found funny. A quick inspection of his shirt told him he didn't have a stain on him. When he returned his gaze to the little boy, the boy was giggling. John moved his eyes from side to side unable to decipher what was happening. His eyes must have done something funny because the little boy was now in uncontrollable giggles. It was then that John let himself relax and join in the laughter.

After a few minutes of laughing along with the little boy, the boy's mother pulled him inside the deli as she carried on her conversation. John took a few minutes to recompose himself before grabbing his cane and heading off back to his flat.

When the blonde woman finished ordering, she grabbed her sandwich in one hand and in the other held onto her son's hand. She and the little boy exited the shop and headed off back to her office building. The mother was practically pulling her son forward as they left. The little boy was preoccupied looking for the man with the mustard stain on his chin.


	7. Ch 7 Saturday 28 July Year 1

Saturday 28 July

"Papa what are stars made of?" asked Hamish.

It was just after 7pm and the sky had grown dark. The curtains of the windows in 221B were drawn slightly but still enough that from his seat at the table, John could just make out the sky beginning to darken and the stars filling the night sky. He looked to his left where 4-year-old Hamish sat eating his late dinner of macaroni and cheese.

John cleared his throat before speaking to him. "They're just…bright lamps in the sky."

Hamish cocked his head to one side and looked at him. As he did so, a stray dark brown curl fell over his forehead and threatened to cover his grey-blue eyes. With a long-fingered hand, he moved the curl back into place and continued to look at him before giggling. "You're lying papa."

John laughed along with him. "No, I'm serious. They are bright lamps in the sky."

"Then how did they get up there?" he asked as his tone made it clear he wasn't being fooled.

"You should be eating your dinner not asking questions."

"Fine, I'll just ask daddy when he gets here."

They went back to eating dinner. Five minutes later, John heard the unmistakable sound of Sherlock's footsteps on the stairs. Next, the kitchen door leading out into the hallway burst open revealing Sherlock Holmes.

"Daddy!" Hamish leapt out of his chair and ran up to Sherlock. Sherlock smiled at him and ran his hand through the little boy's hair before shaking the curls and making a thorough mess.

John offered Sherlock dinner but he refused. Instead, Sherlock just sat at the kitchen table listening to Hamish babble on and on about his day at the park.

"Daddy, Papa said stars are made of bright lamps in the sky. Is that true?"

"John," Sherlock whined as he gave John an accusatory stare. "Why would you tell him that? You want him thinking the electric company supplies the stars in the sky?"

John just rolled his eyes and sat back to listen to Sherlock dive into a chemistry lecture on the properties of stars…

10am

John slowly woke up from his sleep. He laid in bed feeling the bliss of his painless leg. It wasn't everyday that his leg didn't bother him. After lying in bed for a few minutes, John checked his phone for any messages from Harry.

"I will be there at noon."

Harry was making the trip from Hounslow to come see him today. She knew he wasn't doing well and wanted to check on him, which meant a whole day of listening to his sister rambling. Luckily she worked at an electronics store which meant she was able to get a DVD on sale. Hopefully that would keep her quiet for most of the day.

John got dressed and went out to the newsstand to pick up the morning's newspaper. Once back inside his flat he put the paper on the counter and set the kettle on the stove. While the water heated up, he worked his way around the apartment, dusting and wiping anything that did not meet his standards. By the time his tea was ready he had worked his leg too much forcing him to sit still.

John sipped his tea and ate biscuits while he flipped through the newspaper. On the second page, an article caught his attention.

Doctor arrested for alleged murder.

He skimmed through the article hoping to see Lestrade's name but it was not mentioned at any point in the article. Instead all the credit went to the chief of police who was quoted as saying that "It was due to my expertise that helped me recognize that the late Ms. Angela Chamberlain had not suffered from tetanus. It was nothing more than a common cold. This development led to an inquiry as to the misdiagnosis made by her doctor…"

John's blood ran cold. The nerve of the man to take credit for the work he and Lestrade had done. He quickly flipped to the entertainment section and spent his time reading about different nominees for the upcoming award season. When finished, he cleaned up his dishes and soon a knock came at his door.

John limped to the door and pulled it open. There stood Harry in all of her blonde haired glory. Harry was John's younger sister. They both had the same dark blue eyes and straight blond hair but whereas John looked like their mom, Harry's features took after their father.

John raised an eyebrow, "You've cut your hair." Harry's hair had been down past her shoulders the last time he had seen her. Now her hair was cut short with the front part extending from the side part on the left side to her right ear.

"Yes, well this hot weather is dreadful with long hair." She walked past him into his flat and looked around. "You really need to get your OCD under control."

"Some of us like to keep things clean – "

"Big brother there is such a thing as too clean." She took her finger and rubbed it on counter where it made a loud squeak. She raised her blue eyes to look at John giving him an 'I told you so' look. "It's so hot in here. How can you stand it?"

At the mention of the weather, John noticed just how warm it really was. "It's hotter in Afghanistan."

"You aren't running around the desert carrying a gun anymore," she said as she put the shopping bags on the kitchen counter and moved to the windows and began opening them.

John wanted to correct her oversimplification of the war but decided against it. They'd had this conversation before and Harry would find other things to talk about soon.

When she finished opening the windows, Harry went back to the shopping bags and began pulling things out one by one. "I brought…a couple bottles of that specialty soda…some snacks…and Annie courtesy of my workplace."

"Annie?"

"It's an American movie based on a Broadway show about some red-head."

"Never seen it."

"Me neither but a friend of mine recommended it."

Sure enough as they got ready to watch the movie, Harry would not stop talking. She told John about everything from how things were going at work to her flat in Hounslow as well as the current status of her dating life.

"You should come to a club with me one of these days."

"I don't think lesbians are going to be interested in me."

"They aren't all lesbians. Some of them are bisexual."

"I'll pass."

Mercifully the movie began and Harry was forced to keep quiet for the next hour and a half.

The movie begins and it turns out to be a couple of decades old. The first thing shown is a sign saying "Hudson St. Home for Girls". Must be a movie about a school.

The opening scene shows a little red head girl, singing in the middle of the night looking out at New York City. She has a nice voice maybe this won't be too bad.

"…their one mistake was giving up me…" she sings.

"Oh no…" whispered John.

A shot of the inside of the room shows a row of beds with little girls sleeping. One of the little girls gets restless in her sleep and the little red-head girl, Annie, goes to her bedside.

"Jesus, they should have done something better with that girl's hair," laughed Harry. "Well I guess that's what she looks like on the cover…" She then picked up the DVD case to look at while John leaned in to watch the movie more closely.

Soon the girls on the screen start waking up and fighting. Once they calmed down, Annie and the other little orphan girl start talking about their absent parents.

"…they want a little girl with brown hair and brown eyes…" John groaned as he listened to the little girl.

Annie starts singing about parents again while the little girls listen and imagine. John almost got up and turned the DVD off but just then the music turned sour and a drunken older woman walked in the room demanding all the girls get up and start cleaning.

"…why any kid would want to be an orphan is beyond me…" John let out a pained laugh.

Next the girls start cleaning and as it turns out, there were a lot more girls living there than it originally looked like. They all start cleaning, singing, and dancing. It was all very unrealistic but the lyrics cut through, more than anything else.

"…no one cares for you a smidge. When you're in an orphanage. It's the hard knock life…" Listening to the orphans sing, made John imagine Hamish in that situation.

Skinny 5-year-old Hamish being roughly woken up in the middle of the night and made to do chores. Barely tall enough to reach the sink but carefully scrubbing dishes so they don't break. Sweeping the hallways with a broom taller than he is. Having to make his bed. Hand washing his clothes in the sink. Getting in line to get breakfast. Breakfast is pieces of toast and cold tea. Getting to the front of the line and handed only one piece of toast because there isn't enough food for everyone. Having to fight boys for a seat at the breakfast table. Sitting alone and eating a cold breakfast. Going into the living area and stealing a piece of newspaper to have something to read. Getting visited by a couple who might want to adopt him. Spending the afternoon with them. They get his hopes up that he might leave the orphanage. They smile and leave him back at the orphanage. Getting in line for dinner. Pushing and shoving. At the front of the line, choice between processed mashed potatoes or mystery meat. Sitting in a secluded area outside, eating mashed potatoes. Spending the rest of the evening hiding from the orphans and the attendants…

"…We love you Miss Hannigan…" When John finished daydreaming and started watching the movie again, the secretary of a billionaire was at the orphanage hoping to adopt for a week. Is that even possible? To just borrow an orphan? Maybe that could be an option.

As the plot suggested, Annie was the one adopted for the week and after some resistance, her adoptive billionaire father learns to love her. Once he wants to make the adoption official, Annie resists because she's still waiting for her parents. That would be a problem too wouldn't it? Hamish wanting to meet his birth parents. He'd never be satisfied just with me. He'd want to know about Irene and about his dead father. Would I show him Sherlock's grave? Would I call Irene and ask her to meet Hamish?

The movie goes into an elaborate scheme of hunting down Annie's parents while the drunken woman who runs the orphanage manages to trick Annie and the billionaire into thinking she's her parent. Once everything gets sorted out, the billionaire officially adopts Annie and several other orphan girls. Must be nice to be that rich and buy help.

When the movie ended Harry stretched and said, "I need to have a stern talk with my co-worker. This movie wasn't all that great…"

John tuned out her ranting while he let the events in the movie process. It was just a movie. Hollywood always likes to dramatize things and make them worse than they are just to cause a rise in people. Of course, it couldn't be entirely inaccurate. Orphanages are not pleasant places. No doubt Hamish would probably experience something close to that. Mycroft sure seemed to think he will.

Harry turned off the DVD and interrupted John's thoughts. "What's going on with you? Did you not like it either?"

Like it? Of course not. The universe is playing some sick joke. "Well it's a bit far-fetched if you ask me. An orphan gets invited to live with a billionaire for a week. Orphan wants to find the parents. No parents. Billionaire adopts multiple orphans."

"John, it's only a movie. If you didn't like it you just have to say so."

"No. No, it's not that. I just think the story line is a little hard to swallow that's all."

"Oh but the James Bond series is very believable."

"Hey! Why are you in attack mode?"

Harry giggled a little at his word choice. "I saw you tear up when the orphans were singing. You cannot tell me you didn't like it."

John averted his gaze. Harry still didn't know about Hamish but telling her would be like making it official. Telling your family about adoption was the ultimate step. Would she be supportive? Would she talk him out of it?

Harry moved to sit back down on the couch next to him. "Is this about Sherlock? How is a movie about an orphan reminding you of him?"

John looked at her and opened his mouth to answer but no sound came out.

Harry sighed, "John, talk to me. Look I know I was not there for you when you got back from Afghanistan. My relationship with - " Harry stuttered a bit before starting again. "My relationship with Clara was in a very delicate state and I'm sorry…But I'm here now. You helped me. Let me help you."

John looked at her. She was completely serious. It was true Harry had not been there at his side to help him recover from his injury. The feeling of being completely alone but being back home was a strange feeling. It wasn't until he met Sherlock that the isolation had ended. Sherlock had been the cure. When Sherlock died, Mrs Hudson called Harry for help. With her divorce now finalized and her drinking under control, thanks to John, Harry had not hesitated to come to his side. Harry had never met Sherlock but she knew of him. John had talked a lot about him in the two years he knew Sherlock. Looking back now, Sherlock really had dominated a portion of his life. Harry was the first person to tell him. Sweet outspoken Harry had not minced words when after listening to John talk about his cases with Sherlock, she straight out asked, "When's the wedding?". They had laughed at the time but looking back, John's life really had revolved around Sherlock's musings.

Harry was still watching him waiting for him to answer when John finally spoke. "Look, it just wasn't a good movie for me to watch right now."

Harry gestured him to go on. "Cherish my silence, John."

John smiled but his amusement was short-lived. Harry wanted the truth and in all honesty, she deserved it. Telling her could be risky. Would she reject him?

He took a deep breath before talking. "I'm…sort of in the process of adopting." There. It was out. No taking it back. There was a chance that Harry had not heard him.

"You're what?" She had heard and now she's just in shock.

John rubbed the back of his neck. "I'm considering adopting Sherlock's son."

Harry held up her hands and shook her head to clear it. "Wait. Wait. Back up. Sherlock had a son?"

"Yes. He had this one time thing with this woman, Irene Adler, you don't know her. I don't think it meant anything, maybe not for her, not sure about him – anyway," John's thought process ran away from him before he was able to stop himself and reorganize his thoughts. "She's pregnant with his child. He's due to be born this November or December."

Harry just sat looking at him. The shock was clear on her face. Questions and remarks passed across her face. What they were, John could not decipher. She opened her mouth a couple of times to speak but then changed her mind.

Eventually Harry got up enough strength to ask one of the questions but one question turned into several and her string of ranting began again. "Why?...Why you? Why isn't she keeping him? She was the one having sex. Have her deal with this. You shouldn't be the one responsible. What will she do if you say no? Will she have an abortion? It might be too late for that – "

"Harry!" John cut her off. Harry usually ranted until she said something she regretted later. "If I don't adopt him then she will put him up for adoption. Just like in the movie."

Harry looked back at the TV even though the screen was blank. It gave her something to study while she got her thoughts under control. "And she doesn't want to keep him?"

"Her…Her line of work isn't suitable for children."

Harry started to laugh, "What is she a stripper or something?"

John gave a weak laugh along with her to hide just how uncomfortable and just how close to the truth she was.

Harry didn't buy it for one second. Her face went from giggles to serious in a matter of seconds. "Oh…my god. She is isn't she?"

"No…not exactly – "

"Don't try lying to me John. I know your weird uncomfortable laugh."

"Well she isn't exactly a stripper okay. It's much more complicated than that – anyway, she can't keep him so she asked me if I would."

"So are you?"

John sighed and looked away from her. "I still haven't decided."

"Well don't."

John looked up at her immediately. He had expected something like this from her but to hear it felt worse. "Don't adopt? Why not?" John had not expected to get on the defensive but for some reason, not having his sister tell him to be a parent weighed like a ton of bricks. Did she not think he was a worthy father?

"John, you're still going through…whatever it is you're experiencing. Also, look at this place." She drew his gaze around his flat. "You have scrubbed every inch and not a thing is out-of-place. You probably spend your free time endlessly cleaning."

For the first time, John took a look around his flat with a clear mind. The carpet in his living room was freshly vacuumed. The dining table next to the window was so clean, it was reflecting light. It was most impressive seeing as it was made of wood. The cabinet holding the television was completely clear. No knickknacks or pictures or papers. It was absolutely clear. There was still a prominent smell of lemon cleaner.

"John, you have some serious issues. A baby? I've never been a mom but I know, they cause chaos and messes…I just don't see you living with something like that."

John rubbed the back of his neck and continued to look around the flat. The only thing out-of-place was the newspaper from the morning, and even that, John had to fight the urge to run over and fold it neatly into the recycle. How had things gotten to this point? "I'm in therapy. I've been getting help for…this and this." He said as he pointed to his leg, which had now begun to bother him since Harry had first pointed out the cleanliness of his flat.

"I know you are…I'm just looking out for you. And the baby. I don't want you having a mental breakdown and leaving the kid on a park bench or something."

John's paranoia kicked in at her words. I can't trust my therapist. How am I expected to trust myself with a baby? Harry buried her face in her hands and tried to think it all through. Beside her, John was still going through his panic attack.

After a while, Harry spoke again, "John, I don't want to scare you. More like give you a reality check. I think old John, pre-Sherlock's death John, would have been able to mentally handle something like this. Now I'm not so sure. Maybe a baby is what this place needs though." Again she gestured to his flat. "Could you do this by yourself?"

"I thought I could. But now I'm not so sure."

Harry sat staring at him. John eventually looked away because her eyes only showed pity.

"John…I don't feel comfortable with some…woman blackmailing you into fathering her child."

"I'm not being blackmailed."

"Be the father or he gets sent to an orphanage? That's pretty much blackmail."

Once again, John and Harry sat in silence. John was about to stand up and find something to do when Harry finally spoke. "Is it a boy?"

Of all the questions John imagined her asking, that was not the one he was expecting. John cleared his throat and answered, "Umm…yeah. Irene's almost five months along…His name's going to be Hamish."

Harry jolted at the sound of his name. She looked at him with wide eyes. "Hamish? Your middle name? You're naming your first-born after yourself?"

"He isn't mine yet. I haven't signed anything."

"But his name is going to be Hamish?"

"Umm. Yeah that's the plan."

Harry smiled as her eyes began to water. John just looked at her wondering if he had done something wrong. Eventually Harry rubbed her eyes and cleared her throat before speaking.

"I'm…I'm really happy for you."

John cocked his head to one side and tried studying her expression. "What are you talking about? A few minutes ago you were telling me to just scratch the whole thing. That I shouldn't even be thinking about becoming a father."

"Well…I still think that but…I don't see you getting any better. There isn't anything happening that will somehow fix all of this." She gestured to him. "You refuse to see other people. You live alone. I worry about you constantly. I know when I divorced from Clara, I spent several nights thinking about her and dreaming about her. I can only imagine what you must be going through. To see your best friend fall like that…I'm better now. I love my job. I live in a new place. I go out and meet people all the time. But you…I think we're reaching the end of the line. What else is there to keep you going? Plus, you should see yourself when you mention his name. He's not even born yet and I can already tell you love him."

John looked away. Love? He hadn't even thought about it. The thought of having a small living person to raise and be here long after he was gone…it was daunting, scary, and exciting. He had been lacking in excitement lately. Perhaps a child would give that edge.

"Do you have any ultrasound pictures?"

Her question pulled John out of his reverie. "Oh. Umm…yeah. I have one from a few weeks ago."

John got up and went to his room to fetch the picture. That first day he had learned about the pregnancy Irene had slipped him the ultrasound picture when he wasn't looking. John had found it the next day in his pants pocket and stuffed it in his sock drawer, filed away as something he did not want to look at. He went to the drawer and ruffled around the socks until he found it buried underneath. John looked at the photo and sighed.

The photo was extremely grainy but you could still see the body of a 14 centimeter long fetus. Irene had been 18 weeks along at the time and the child was progressing nicely. The spine and skull were probably the things most prominent in the picture. The body almost seemed too small for such a large head but it was normal for a fetus. Soon he would grow into it. John couldn't help thinking how much the fetus had changed. Irene would be 21 weeks now. If all was going well, Hamish had begun to have dreams. Also, his skin would be all wrinkly. In the coming weeks that would all smooth out.

John shut his sock drawer and went back into the living room. Harry was sitting on a stool at the counter munching on crisps waiting for John. He handed her the photo and she instantly smiled at the child on the piece of paper.

"Is it normal to be able to see so much of the spinal cord?"

John smiled and responded, "Yes. The skin is translucent at this stage. His bones have just begun to develop and soon he will gain body fat to cover the bones."

"Oh," she replied and continued to study it. "Well you shouldn't have this hidden away in your bedroom. You should have this up on display." She opened his kitchen drawers in search of tape. Once she found it, she ripped off a piece and taped the ultrasound photo to his fridge. "There," she said.

John looked at his refrigerator. It was completely bare except for the picture. Actually, the entire flat was bare except for the picture. Soon John would probably have to start filling it with more baby things. He stopped himself. He had not even signed the adoption papers. It's too soon to think about preparing the flat for a baby.

John went back to his room and opened his bedside table drawer. He looked around it until he found what he was looking for. When he had the papers in hand, he went back to the kitchen, ripped a piece of the tape off and taped the adoption papers next to the ultrasound picture.

He could feel Harry smile next to him as they stepped back to look at the newly decorated refrigerator. It no longer felt as strange as before to wonder what adoption would be like. The fetus in the photograph was just waiting for a home and a look around told John, the flat was waiting for a baby.


	8. Ch 8 Monday 30 July Year 1

Monday 30 July

"Captain Watson, the Taliban will be here soon."

Captain Watson nodded to the soldier as he took off into the marketplace. Immediately, the soldiers began shouting and yelling at the civilians to seek cover but the Afghani's did not understand their English language.

Captain Watson pulled out his gun and fired 3 rounds into the air. The sound was received with mixed reactions. Some people immediately sought cover. Some began screaming and others looked in his direction. The captain climbed onto a cart filled with grain and addressed the civilians in the marketplace.

Using mostly hand signals, he conveyed his message, "Everyone! You need to drop everything and move indoors. Now!"

As soon as he had finished, the other soldiers began pushing and pulling civilians into the poorly constructed houses lining the marketplace. Still there was resistance from men and women. The children were just dragged alongside their parents.

Captain Watson jumped off the cart to help the effort. At one of the booths, two women veiled from head to toe, were busy packing away their merchandise. Captain Watson grabbed them both by the elbows and half dragged them into the doorway behind their booth. The two women screamed and yelled but the captain ignored them and roughly pushed them inside.

He went out into the center of the marketplace to rejoin his fellow officers and looked out into the mouth of the marketplace. A giant dust cloud consumed the view of the desert. The Taliban are close.

Captain Watson was busy bracing himself when another officer yelled to him, "Captain, on your left!"

The Captain looked to his left seeing nothing. He lowered his gaze and saw the top of a curly brown head. A tiny little boy stood there in clothes that were too big for him watching the dust cloud of the oncoming Taliban.

Screams erupted from a doorway on the Captain's right. A woman stood at a doorway with her arms stretched out in front of her. The Captain couldn't understand her but it didn't take much to understand that the little boy was her son. The woman fought against the restraint of the soldiers and eventually managed to get free. She was moving so fast that no one around was able to stop her. She was halfway to the Captain and the little boy when she was struck down by the first fire.

Captain Watson immediately grabbed the little boy and ran to the left side of the marketplace to seek cover. All around him the soldiers began barking orders and gathering their defenses. The Captain made his way to the left side and through a doorway. The women in the small room began screaming in terror but the Captain paid no mind. He placed the boy on his feet and looked to see if he was alright.

The Captain crouched down so that he was level with the boy and looked into his clear blue eyes. He was mesmerized for a moment before he shook himself and scanned the boy's body for any sign of injury. A quick scan revealed nothing.

Captain Watson began to ask the little boy if he was hurt but as he opened his mouth, pain erupted in his left shoulder…

6:23am

John's eyelids flew open with the terror of his nightmare. Chest heaving, heart racing, and leg throbbing, John lay in bed willing his body to calm once again. Eventually, he released the sob he had been holding back and rubbed his face into the pillow to remove the tear tracks.

John tried going back to sleep but when he closed his eyes, the sounds and images of war came flooding back. Fifteen minutes later he awoke feeling even worse than when he fell asleep so he scrapped it all together and hobbled out of bed.

7:04am

John sat at the kitchen stool waiting for the kettle to boil and staring at the refrigerator. The ultrasound and adoption papers were still stuck there waiting for him to make the decision.

_"Time is almost up. What is it now? Four weeks?"_

John's leg stiffened slightly at the Consulting Detective's words.

"Maybe last night's little nightmare was a sign…The excitement will eventually kill you."

"You're a psychiatrist now," John responded without looking up.

"I'm not but you are. You spend enough time with a therapist to think like one. I'm a projection of your subconscious. Your mind just has a way of dealing with trauma that takes on my voice and image."

John sighed heavily and stood to retrieve his tea.

7:44am

John was on the tube, on his way to the clinic when he received his first message from Lestrade.

Good morning. Just wanted to know if you wanted to meet me for dinner as a thank you for your help.

What time did you want to meet? – JW

How does 4 sound?

That's fine. I'll meet you at the Yard. - JW

12:53pm

"Doctor Watson, your patient is waiting in room 6."

"Thank you, Peter"

It was just after lunch and as John stood to walk to the door, his leg gave out underneath him. He managed to catch himself with his arms fast enough to not fall on the floor and roughly land back in his seat. A cold sweat broke out on his forehead and his heart was pounding. He rested his head on his desk, closed his eyes, and breathed deeply.

"It's all in your head Watson…The pain isn't real…"

After a few moments he attempted to stand again. He was a bit wobbly at first but did manage to make his way to the door without the use of his cane. He desperately needed to use his cane but using it in front of patients seemed unprofessional.

John made his way past the senior doctor's offices and to room 6. Inside sat a forty year old woman, Alexandra Cameron according to her chart, thin build and light brown hair. He shook her hand and immediately sought refuge on a stool.

"What seems to be the problem today Ms. Cameron?"

"Yes, well I found a lump on my shoulder."

"Would you mind showing me?"

She did not hesitate removing her shirt and was left only in her bra. She pointed to an area on the top of her right shoulder where there seemed to be nothing. John wheeled himself over to her to get a better look but still saw nothing. When he put his finger on the area, he did in fact feel it.

"How did you notice this Ms. Cameron?"

"I've had it for quite some time but the other day I was getting dressed and felt it under my fingertips."

Had it for quite some time and just now coming into get it checked? "That's a fair question John. Something must have happened to someone she knows – "

"So it doesn't hurt?" John cut off Sherlock's voice with his own. There was a patient in the room. Can't afford to start deluding with a patient in the room.

"No, but it's massive – "

"She's exaggerating –"

"And I've been reading up on this sort of thing on the internet –"

"This could be dangerous –"

"And it says it might be a tumor."

"Of course she thinks it's a tumor –"

"It's not a tumor," sighed John. His head was throbbing. Keeping up with two different conversations at the same time was wearing him down.

"How do you know for certain when you haven't run any tests?"

"It's a benign cyst, Ms. Cameron. Perfectly harmless."

"You can't know that. You've barely touched it. My late husband died because of poor medical staff –"

"Late husband. Must not be that late seeing as she is still thinking about him and is now concerned for her own health –"

"…and now he's no longer with us so I demand you run every test possible and cut this out of my shoulder –"

"The ring on her necklace was a bit obvious. It's even shiny and brand new. He couldn't have died more than a couple months ago –"

"…are you hearing me? I demand you do something about this or you will have an inquiry on your hands – Now where are you going?..."

John didn't remember what it was that pushed him over the edge but all he remembered was pulling open the door and pushing past Sarah in the hallway. Behind him he could hear the shrill voice of Ms. Cameron followed by the sound of Sarah rushing to quiet her. Last thing was Peter at the front desk calling out his name before he walked through the front door of the clinic.

The weather outside was warm but the shade was ideal. To the right of the doorway sat a homeless woman begging for money. Her gaze drifted to him when he stormed through the door. She looked familiar but couldn't remember exactly where he had seen her.

John took a step towards her to ask who she was but his pathway was cut short by Sarah storming through the door.

"John, what the hell was that?"

John didn't look at Sarah, he was looking at the homeless woman gathering her things and walking away. He wanted to call out to her but Sarah's voice cut him off.

"…Is this about Sherlock?"

At those words his eyes darted to her. Looking at her for the first time, he could see that she no longer looked angry. Instead her face was lined with worry.

"John, if it is, please, seek help. You can't do this. You have a job to do –"

"I know and I'm already working on it. It just hasn't made as great of an impact as I would like."

"These things take time I understand…Look, you should go. Take the rest of the day off. Maybe a couple of days rest will help you."

John didn't even protest. He just walked back inside to gather his things. On his way out, Ms. Cameron was at the receptionist desk giving Peter a hard time. He made his way past her as quickly as he could and sent a text to Lestrade.

Something's come up. Let's do dinner early. – JW

2:09 PM

John caught the tube and now stood outside staring at the New Scotland Yard sign. He barely remembered the last time he had been there. He had just left Saint Bart's after identifying Sherlock's body and Lestrade drove him to Scotland Yard. He remembered being in a daze as Lestrade dragged him out of the car while Donovan batted away the news reporters. Once inside, he retold his side of the story. Everything from arriving to see Sherlock on the roof, to the phone call, to feeling Sherlock's life escape his body. Wherever Moriarty is, he won. The police concluded he had taken his life as a result of guilt and shame. They indited Sherlock for fraud and his reputation died with him.

John took the lift up to Lestrade's floor and stood at the doorway of the large room full of desks and offices. His eyes wandered around every inch of the place. His mind kept trying to drag him through the memories of watching Sherlock pace around or flipping through case files. He tried his hardest and eventually settled on remembering sitting in what once was Lestrade's office and telling the metropolitan police department just how he had failed Sherlock.

"John, over here."

Lestrade sat at a desk on the main floor, no longer in his office. It was one of the first things to go in his demotion. John limped over to him and took the seat offered to him.

Lestrade gave him a curious glance, "I didn't think you got out of work this early. Everything alright?"

"Everything's fine. It just felt like I was coming down with something so it seemed wise to head out early."

Lestrade nodded and explained to him his latest case: An open and shut domestic dispute. It was definitely beneath him and John could tell Lestrade knew it. It seemed more like paperwork rather than leg work.

John sat at his desk talking until Sergeant Donovan came over. "Lestrade, the chief needs your report on the assaulted cabbie now." Donovan's harsh demeanor seemed to have increased ten-fold. Seeing as now Lestrade essentially worked for her, Donovan was taking full advantage of it even by addressing him with as much disdain as she could muster.

Lestrade immediately jumped from his seat and grabbed at his files looking for the right one. John watched him in sadness and in anger. Sadness that this was the result of John's retelling of the events on that day in June. Anger that Lestrade was bending over backwards for Donovan.

Lestrade found the file he was looking for and hurriedly told John that he would be back in a matter of minutes. John watched him practically run towards the chief's office, not wanting to keep him waiting.

"Come for a visit then." Donovan spoke and John turned his anger instead to her. It was her tip off that allowed Moriarty's story to become more than that. He remembered the smug look on her face as she showed up at 221B to arrest Sherlock. John clenched his fists and used all his strength to remain seated.

Donovan smiled and spoke again, "I imagine you must be doing much better now. So much more relaxing I'm sure. I could use some relaxation."

John said nothing, fearing that the next words from his lips would only embarrass her. To his surprise, Donovan kept right on smiling.

"Living on your own now or in a flat share? Make sure to do a background check if you do a flat share," and with that she started laughing. Joy written across every one of her features. John applauded his self-control. He would have retaliated but she noticed he was not laughing with her and so she stopped to look at him. "It was just a joke. Besides, he turned out to be a fake. He got what he deserved."

"In your opinion, people deserve to die Sergeant Donovan?" John's voice was laced with all the anger and contempt he could muster.

"Well, no. He didn't have to die. That was his choice," she said as she stared him down. John eyed her without blinking. She was the first to look away. It's a mystery what she must have seen in his eyes that made her state, "You can't honestly say you don't feel better now that he's gone."

John looked at her as her face grew serious. All of the anger from the day was threatening to overtake him but he eventually bit out, "Actually, it's one of the worst times of my life." Donovan continued to look at him with shocked and confused eyes.

"What did I miss?" Neither one of them noticed Lestrade's return. He looked at John then to Donovan, then back to John. Donovan looked up at him and made to speak but instead walked away shaking her head.

Lestrade watched her go then looked back at John for an explanation, "Something I need to know?"

John shrugged and said, "Just catching up."

"Right…so I have some bad news. As it turns out, the chief just handed me some more cases to work on so, I can't go to dinner. I'm really sorry, John."

John stood up and nodded, "It's fine Greg, really. I was hoping on turning in early tonight anyway. I need the sleep."

"Wait. Before you go, I got you something just to say thank you for helping me on that last case." John didn't point out that the credit went to neither one of them.

Lestrade dug through his desk drawer and retrieved a black messenger bag. "I wasn't sure if was supposed to wrap it or not. I imagine you might not want a baby shower so, I got it to say thank you and congratulations."

John leaned his cane against the desk and picked up the messenger bag. It turns out it only looked like a messenger bag. The outside had three different pockets, according to the label, used for holding wipes, bibs, or bottles. John opened the inside and found it to be even more spacious than the outside suggested. He unclipped one of the straps and was momentarily shocked when the changing pad rolled out.

"I wasn't sure if you wanted to carry around a stereotypical nappy bag. I mean, ducks are great and all, if you want to go with that. I just thought you might want something that looks more like something you would carry." John continued to look at the nappy bag and run his fingers over the nylon. "I can exchange it if you'd like –"

"No. It's great. Thank you, Greg." John held out his hand and smiled at Lestrade.


	9. Ch 9 Tuesday 31 July Year 1

Tuesday 31 July

11:01 A.M.

"Good morning. How are you feeling this week?"

John stared at Doctor Adams through drowsy eyes and made no effort to answer her question. She must have seen the dark circles around his eyes.

"Are you not sleeping well?"

John sighed and responded, "No"

"How long have you not been sleeping well?"

"Since I was invalided."

"…Okay. But something has changed since last week. What did you do over the weekend?"

"My sister came to visit."

"Oh. How is your relationship with your sister?"

"Better. She is no longer drinking and her divorce has been finalized for quite some time."

Doctor Adams paused as the realization dawned on her. "Did you…tell your sister about the adoption?"

John continued to look at the floor as he nodded.

"How did she take it?"

"Better than I thought…well I don't know what I was expecting but it wasn't that."

"So she is supportive of your decision."

"Yes."

Silence held the room while they both gathered their thoughts. It was Doctor Adams who spoke first, "Do you have a problem with your sister knowing about the adoption?"

John felt his hand twitch slightly as he gathered his thoughts. "Harry knowing isn't so bad. She was supportive. Happy about it even. Of course she does see me as a lost cause…I guess I don't want to let her down. What if I don't go through with it?"

"How would you let her down? You think by not adopting you would disappoint her?"

"She said she doesn't see a way for me to get better. She thinks adopting may be the only way I can…start to recover."

"And this is what has been keeping you up at night?"

"No, it's been giving me nightmares. Yesterday it kept me up all night."

"What happened yesterday?"

Where does one even start with yesterday? The nightmares? The throbbing limp? Leaving work early? Donovan? The nappy bag?

"John, what happened? Is it about work? Your stress disorder?"

"It's all related."

Doctor Adams cocked one eyebrow and said, "How are they related?"

John sighed and retold the previous day's events. "…I ended up not going to dinner with Greg because he was bullied into working later by his superiors…and then he gave me a nappy bag."

Doctor Adams folded her hands in her lap as she listened to John tell his story. When he was done, John drifted back into silence and continued to look at the floor, never once looking up at her.

"John, have you bought anything in preparation for the baby?"

"No…"

Doctor Adams nodded and said, "Where is the nappy bag now?"

"In a drawer next to my gun."

"You have a gun again?"

"You said I was stable enough…"

Doctor Adams' jaw dropped as she said, "I didn't think you'd arm yourself again so quickly." John didn't respond. "Right, well…this nappy bag. Could it be that this gift has made the prospect of adoption more real to you?"

Again John just sat in silence trying to think it over. He had spent the night before staring at his bedside drawer that held the bag and the gun. In previous nights, that drawer had eased his mind with the knowledge that he would be able to protect himself if he needed to. Now, the contents of the drawer frightened him.

Doctor Adams took his silence as a confirmation. "Right, so what has frightened you is the reality of the adoption?"

He wordlessly nodded.

"I think what you're experiencing is a crossroads. You were a soldier once and now you are invalided. You were once an assistant to a detective but now you care for people in a clinic. You used to be in the line of fire that required you to carry a gun…now you're being asked to raise a child. It's the opposite of what you are used to."

John felt the tremor in his hand at her words. It was true. It was all true.

"John, in a way, you will have to choose the gun or the nappy bag."

They stayed silent for a while and then John spoke, "If I choose to adopt, does that mean I will be stuck with a psychosomatic limp?"

The doctor pursed her lips as she thought. "All you need to rid yourself of your limp is to have thrill, unexpectedness, and adventure in your life. I think that you will find that in the challenges of raising a child."

John thought about it. How could a child be challenging? Everyone is raising children. How could Hamish replace the thrill of chasing criminals through the streets of London?

"So, have you figured out why you are so angry at the mother of the unborn child?"

John let out a groan and rubbed his face in frustration. "No I haven't."

"When did you first meet her?"

"Almost a year ago."

"Is that when Sherlock first met her?"

"Yes."

"What kind of relationship did you have with Sherlock before that?"

"The same kind that we have always had."

"Were you dating someone at the time?"

"Around the time I met Irene? I casually dated a lot of women."

"When did you stop dating?"

John thought for a moment about his last girlfriend. Jeanette? Christmas? It has been that long? "I broke up with my last girlfriend on Christmas."

"Was Sherlock dating someone at the time?"

John slightly smiled. "As long as I knew him, Sherlock had never dated anyone."

"Wasn't Christmas around the time the baby was conceived?"

John's smile dropped. No. It could not have been. "No! They couldn't have! She faked her death on Christmas!"

For the first time, Doctor Adams' emotions betrayed her. Shock and bewilderment lined her face. She quickly composed herself but stumbled over her words a few times. She stopped and tried again, "She…faked her death? How did Sherlock react to that?"

John thought back to the consulting detective's week of depression. "He…wouldn't stop composing sad music."

"So he was depressed. How did you respond to that?"

"Well I helped him. I tried to make him snap out of it but it wouldn't work."

"What did work?"

"She got a hold of me and…showed me that she wasn't dead. Then he found out too."

"And that fixed him?"

"He had pent up anger but once he got over that he was better."

"Was that the last time he saw her?"

"No. She showed up at our flat shortly after the new year."

"She came around to visit? Live in?"

"She spent a whole day with us."

"How was that for you?"

John thought back to that day in 221B. All of the advances Irene kept making. The joke about a baby named Hamish. He winced at the memories. John looked up and found the doctor's gaze on him. "Umm…It was awkward to say the least."

"Why is that?"

"They were flirting constantly."

"Why didn't you find another girlfriend after the one you broke up with on Christmas?"

"I just…didn't find anyone interesting. What does that have to do with anything?"

"Well, from my understanding, since the first day you met Sherlock Holmes to around the time you met Irene, you were an avid dater." John gave a slow nod but had no idea where it was going. "But then, when Sherlock had relationship troubles, you gave up your time to help him. And, this is just a guess from what I have seen happen in the past, your relationship ended because you offered to help him. Am I wrong?"

John looked at her through bewildered eyes. "How…how could you have known that?"

"Many couples have come in my office and their relationships have ended for similar problems. One party is in love with a third party. The second party is jealous of the third party. The first party has no idea they share a bond with a third party."

John confusedly looked at her. "I'm not understanding."

Doctor Adams sighed. She leaned forward, looked straight into his eyes, and spoke in plain English, "You stopped having relationships with other women because you were already in a relationship with Sherlock Holmes."

He sat in silence and tried to grasp what she was trying to say. "But, many people have girlfriends and friends. It is possible."

Doctor Adams shook her head, "That's not what I'm trying to tell you. Yes, Sherlock Holmes was your friend, but he was more than that. Whenever you broke up with a girlfriend, who did you rely on to cheer you up?"

John didn't respond and Doctor Adams didn't wait for one. "You were using Sherlock Holmes as a fall back. Once he began to form his own relationship, it was natural that you formed some sort of resentment towards this Irene woman."

John looked down and tried processing what she was saying, "Are you trying to say I'm jealous of Irene?"

Doctor Adams nodded.

"Well I'm not. What he decided to do was his business."

"Okay, but that still doesn't mean you weren't jealous. A woman he knows for a few months comes into his life and achieves what you never did."

John's jaw dropped. "You aren't suggesting I was trying to sleep with him."

"You felt no attraction to him?"

"Well, sure, he was a good looking person but…no"

"And why not? –"

" – because I'm not gay."

Doctor Adams paused before proceeding with her next statement, "Sexuality is not as rigid as you seem to think. It is possible to be attracted to one person of the same sex while still having desires for the opposite sex. Sexuality _is_ fluid."

As she spoke, John shut his eyes and shook his head. This was not being brought up in the middle of a session. "No. Just…no, that's not why. I've been straight my whole life."

"Many people experience a change in their sexuality later on in life – "

"Not me."

They both sat in silence. The only sound was John's harsh breathing.

"John, your sister, she is a lesbian right?"

John sharply inhaled and looked at her but did not respond with a yes or no. She already knew about Harry. They had discussed her divorce from Clara when he had first got back from Afghanistan.

"Okay, so how did your family respond to her coming out?"

He thought back and tried to remember that day back from school. "Horribly…My father was completely against it….Mother was…disappointed."

"How old was she?"

"It was her last year in secondary school so…fifteen."

"What was your response to the news?"

"I had known for years before that."

"And you never told your parents?"

"No…she was so scared…"

"So then, what made her decide to tell her parents?"

"Me…I came back from Uni to visit and…father was telling me I need to stay away from the gays in school…Harry couldn't take it anymore so she outed herself in anger. They were never the same. Harry rebelled against father and when she didn't have the strength to keep going, she started drinking…He died before her wedding."

"And your mother? Did she attend the wedding?"

"No, she was in the hospital at the time. Either way she didn't want to go. She died while I was away in Afghanistan."

Doctor Adams stopped and waited to see if John would tear up. When he didn't, she proceeded. "John, is it possible that your sister's coming out may have scared you away from accepting a change in your sexuality?"

John thought back to the disappointment his mother felt that night and how she always called him her perfect child. "This doesn't even matter anymore. Sherlock is dead. Even if I was gay…it doesn't matter anymore."

"That may be true but, you're grieving for him just like a widow. You need to accept your love for him before you can move on with your life."

John shrunk down in his seat feeling completely defeated.

"Raising a child that is part his may be a way to honor his life and stay connected to him even though he is no longer here."

They quietly sat together as the minutes passed. Eventually John got up and bid the doctor goodbye.

12:33 P.M.

John slowly limped across the grass. Passing headstone after headstone before finally reaching the one he was looking for.

Sherlock's headstone was still as shiny as that first day at the cemetery. For someone who considered himself a social outcast, he was indeed popular in the afterlife. Of course the news reporters had only shown up to the funeral in order to publish more information on the "fake detective's" funeral. Other than the reporters, John could not remember who else had attended the funeral. It was all one emotional blur.

John stood before the headstone marked "Sherlock Holmes" and blinked back all of the emotion that threatened to overtake him.

_"So you're just going to stand there."_

John took a deep breath and looked up to see Sherlock standing behind the headstone. "Well it's not like there is proper seating here," responded John.

Sherlock just smiled and John couldn't help but smile as well. In the afterlife, Sherlock looked just as pale as he ever did. His cheekbones were sharp and his eyes were clearer than John remembered. The light caught his dark hair and made the shade of brown lighter.

They stood staring at each other until John cleared his throat and softly said, "I wanted to come by because…I can't do this any longer."

Sherlock cocked his eyebrow, _"I don't understand."_

"I can't…I can't keep…pining for you like this…I have to put you to rest."

_"I thought you already did that."_

"Evidently, it has not worked. I can still see you. My therapist thinks I still have something left to tell you and she's right."

_"And what's that?"_

John blinked back the tears and the pain. Saying goodbye on that day on the roof had been painful enough but having to do it again was proving to be almost as painful. "Sherlock…I loved you…and you went and threw yourself off a building before I could tell you."

Sherlock stood there and looked at him while John tried to get his breathing under control.

_"If it makes you feel better…I knew you did."_

John choked out a short laugh before his tears sprung free. He hunched over and let out his sobs.

Sherlock never moved from his stance behind the headstone. His hands behind his back never once twitched. John wished he could have reached out and held him but just as you cannot kill an idea, you cannot hold it in your fingertips.

_"Do you still believe in me?"_

John looked up at the sound of his voice. "Yes. Of course I still believe. I will always believe in you. Even if I'm tortured on my knees I will still believe."

Sherlock's face lit up again and his mouth twitched with a smile.

John stood there as long as he could and when he could no longer stand, he sat on the ground as close to Sherlock as he could. Hours passed just looking at Sherlock's eyes as he did the same to John.

It was almost dark, his boxing class was long since over, and the tears on his face had long since dried by the time John stood to leave.

Before looking away from Sherlock, John said one last thing, "I can only hope to raise Hamish to be as wonderful as you were." And with that, John turned back to the main road, never once looking back.


	10. Ch 10 Tuesday 4 September Year 1

Tuesday 4 September

John's eyes opened to the sound of Hamish crying next to him, turning red with the amount of scream and force in his cries. John nearly fell off the bed with the amount of shock at seeing the newborn in his bed. He was not supposed to be born for another 3 months and yet there he is screaming. His body was so tiny and wrapped in blankets. His dark brown hair stood in stark contrast to the white linen sheets.

John rubbed his eyes and tried to make his mind think clearly and stop seeing hallucinations. He managed to stop seeing a newborn in his room but it was only once the screaming had stopped that he realized he was not in the flat he had fallen asleep in.

He was in his room at 221B Baker Street; the large bedroom on the third floor of the building with tattered off white walls and shag carpeting. The room was warm and felt more like home than anything else had.

John stood next to the bed on the side nearest the bedroom door yet from the other side of the bed, he could hear the faint sounds of cooing. His mind now catching up to what was happening, John slowly made his way around the end of the bed to have a look at Hamish.

The little boy, no more than a year old sat on the ground playing with a ball. Playing was probably not an accurate word to describe exactly what he was doing. He was more, holding the ball in one hand and then accidentally dropping it. His shiny and straight hair mussed from a nap most likely. John caught a glimpse of his eyes as he stared at the small red ball. The boy's eyes were grey blue but more blue than anything else.

John watched him repeat the process of grabbing the ball and holding it til it slipped from his fingers until the ball rolled too far from the infants arm stretch. Hamish was on the verge of tears until John moved to grab the ball for him. As he did so, a crash sounded from the second floor. John instinctively made to grab and protect Hamish but the boy and the ball were gone.

John slowly moved towards the bedroom door and started moving down the steps. Once outside the door to the sitting room, he slowly pushed the door open. The sitting room he remembered when living there with Sherlock was no longer the same. Where there used to be two armchairs facing each other, now sat only one armchair and a tiny rocking chair. The large dining table that once sat in the middle of the room was now replaced with a playing area complete with toy bins. On the mantle, the knife and Victor, the skull, were gone. The medical journals and criminal law textbooks in the bookcase next to the fireplace were now gone. Only a couple of rows at the top had anything remotely medical. The rest of the rows held children's books or at least should have held more children's books. Currently the bottom row of books was spilled on the floor at Hamish's feet while he tugged to free a new book on the row above it.

Hamish tugged hard enough that he managed to free the book but in doing so, lost his balance and sent more books tumbling out again. John was quickly by his side making sure the entire bookcase did not fall over. Once he had secured it, John turned to look at the Hamish sitting on the floor surrounded by fallen books. He looked to be 6 years old at the very least. The little boy was currently looking at John with a mixture of embarrassment and helplessness. The book in his long fingered hands was beginning to bend at the edges from his constantly squeeze and still he did not break his grey-blue-eyed stare from John.

Not knowing what to do John just smiled at the boy. The smile certainly didn't meet his eyes and probably only read with confusion and uncertainty but it seemed to work for Hamish. He returned the smile, not hesitating to show his gaps and baby teeth. That was when John found the strength of a genuine smile.

Eventually he extended his hand to help the little boy up and as he did a voice called from behind the kitchen screen, "Dad," but John wouldn't tear his eyes away from the boy in front of him. He had "lived" this in previous nights and he did not want to let go of the six year old.

"Take my hand," said John to the six year old but he was no longer looking at John. He was looking at the kitchen panels trying to get John's attention there too.

The voice in the kitchen called for him again and when it became clear that things were not going to move until he did, John conceded and turned to look at the kitchen door. He did not need to look back at the floor to know that the boy and the books were already gone. He kept his eyes focused on the doors as they slid open.

Ten-year-old Hamish stood on the threshold of the kitchen dressed in his blue football kit with an athletic bag on his right shoulder and a football in his left hand. Even though it was clear by the look of his young face that he was ten years old, his height mislead his age. He was easily 57 inches tall and given a couple more years, could be as tall as John. His age had hardly changed a thing on the boy. His hair was still straight and dark, the grey in his eyes was still dwarfed by the blue, and his lips were still rosy and round. It did make John notice just how olive his skin tone really was. In contrast to his own skin tone, Hamish was pale but he still had a hint of color to his skin.

"I'm going to be late if we don't leave soon," said Hamish.

John was still stunned in silence and barely registered what was said. The sound of his voice was still so childlike but it shook him to his core.

Eventually Hamish got tired of waiting so he turned and walked out of the door leading to the staircase. John moved to follow him but when he reached the stairs, he was gone.

9:00am

John slowly made his way out of bed and into his Tuesday morning routine. He would have found the process monotonous had his mind not been reeling with other things. Ever since that day at the cemetery, John's mind had been quiet. Sherlock was gone from his subconscious but since Friday, it had started again. The gears in his brain ceaselessly turning.

When John finally came to, he was in the kitchen, staring at the refrigerator, waiting for the water to boil. The refrigerator looked wrong without the adoption papers taped to it. Now it just held the outdated photograph of the ultrasound.

As John steeped his tea, he thought about the little boy in his dream that night. It was the fifth night in a row that his dreams were haunted by the same little boy with the dark brown hair, the grey-blue eyes, and the olive skin.

On the tube, John tried to find the compartment with the least amount of children. Unfortunately, it seemed that every party on the tube had at least one child with them. He ended up settling for a seat closest to the exit and the nearest child 5 seats away. He kept his head down but the little girl's chatter would not let him ignore it. Once off the tube, he mercifully reached the Doctor's office without any further distractions.

"Good morning John and how are you feeling today?" Doctor Ella was unusually chipper today. Of course she knew the implications of the day and knew the appointment would be interesting to say the least.

John responded with a non-committed noise.

"Did you…make your decision? That is this week is it not?"

John nodded his head, "first week of September."

"and…have you made up your mind?"

Again John nodded, "I sent the papers in on Friday."

Dr Ella's emotions betrayed her by revealing just how shocked she was at the news. "Did we talk about something last week that swayed your decision?"

The past few weeks were spent discussing John coming to terms with his new discoveries in his sexuality and trying to decide what John would do if not become a father.

"I think my mind has been made up for a long time now. I just did not want to rush into anything."

Dr Ella nodded her head and said, "Are you having any regrets?"

John thought back to everything that had happened in the last five days. "It's…not regret but…" he ran out of words to describe it. "…The world is taunting my decision." He exasperatedly said the words.

"How do you mean?"

"Every time I step outside my flat, I see babies and small children. Yesterday at work, almost all of my patients were children. And when I'm not outside, television shows and newspapers are filled with children too or celebrities who are pregnant."

The doctor let John finish his rant before speaking, "John, all of those things have been there since before you signed the papers. It's just that now that you are an expectant father, you are subconsciously looking for the children."

"So now I have to see them wherever I go?"

Dr Ella paused and said, "Why does it bother you so much?"

John had no idea. Was it because they weren't Hamish? Maybe he didn't like children and now he's made a huge mistake? He didn't realize it but he had spent some time thinking about it but not actually coming up with an answer.

"John…could it be that you are unsure about what type of child Hamish will be like?"

He had not even thought that far ahead. Of course the Hamish in his dreams had a fascination with toys, books, and football. "I don't know…my dreams seem to think otherwise."

"Your dreams?" the doctor piped up at his words.

"Umm…yes. I've dreamt of Hamish for the past four nights."

"In your dreams, what was he doing?"

John thought back to the four little boys milling about 221B. "They were…growing up."

Dr Ella tilted her head thoughtfully and said, "you watched 'them' grow up? Who is 'them'?"

"Different versions of Hamish - look this sounds idiotic." This was why John never wanted to discuss his dreams. They always feel reasonable while they're happening but having to talk about them reveals just how unrealistic they are.

"No. No. John, this is perfectly understandable." Dr Ella tried her best to reassure him. "This isn't the first time you dreamt of him right? You've seen him before?"

It was John's turn to be interested. He only responded with a nod of his head.

When it was clear that John was not going to talk about his dreams, the doctor decided to just voice her speculations and look to John for confirmation. "This is the first time you have watched him grow up." John nodded his head. "You have dreamt of Hamish before but they have always been different." Again John nodded his head. "I think your subconscious has come to terms with your imminent future." John just sat in his chair watching his left hand quiver. "Your waking mind might still be in shock though."

He sat and watched his hand in the long stretch of silence before finally conceding, "Will it ever stop?"

Dr Ella gave him a small smile, "I believe you might be holding on to some doubts about your parenting –"

John gave a short laugh. "I've never been a parent."

"You have a younger sister." John's face became still again. "You must have shaped her in some way."

Well if he didn't have any doubts about his parenting skills before, he certainly had them now. "My younger alcoholic divorced sister who works at an electronic store."

"I don't know your sister but I'm sure she made her own decisions and her own life choices based on her own rational. From what you've told me about your home life, it is miraculous that the two of you have found peace. Now you have been given a chance to give what you never had."

John sat and thought about being able to be the accepting, doting, and loving father he had not had.

Eventually Dr Ella broke his silence, "I think once you have accepted parenthood, you will find it will come naturally to you. You are not physically carrying a baby so you don't form that bond beforehand. You might not feel bonded until you carry the baby in your arms. And even then, it may take some time. For now, you have to go forward blindly believing it can happen."

_Has trust issues_, thought John. But who is he really trusting here. It's not Sherlock, the doctor, or Hamish. He's trusting himself. If he cannot even trust himself, he is well and truly lost.

"I think if you took some parenting classes, learned what you will be up against, it could put your mind at ease. Between now and the birth date, try to enjoy your freedom." John looked up to meet her face and saw that she was smiling.

Once their hour was up, John left to head back to his flat. He counted 5 children, 2 boys and 3 girls, from the tube to the flat.

At the doorstep, John could hear the unmistakable sounds of someone banging about in his kitchen. He gripped the cane and slowly opened the door. He took a quick step inside and looked to the right. Next to the door were a pair of lady's shoes. In the kitchen, with her back to him, Irene stood opening and closing his cupboard doors.

John relaxed a bit as she banged another cupboard door closed again. Irene looked well. She was dressed in a red dress and her hair was wrapped in a bun at the back of her head. She had not curled her hair and the dress didn't look like her usual fancy dress but she looked relatively the same.

With another bang, Irene slammed a cupboard door closed. John approached the kitchen tentatively so as not to startle her.

"Irene?" he called out.

She immediately stopped her opening and closing of cupboard doors and rounded on John. Her eyes were positively furious, she was barefoot with swollen ankles, and now that she was turned in John's direction he could see her pregnant stomach. From the back she was as shapely as she ever was but looking at her head on, her stomach was definitely protruding. It wasn't a watermelon under her dress but it was close.

"John!" she practically shouted. "Where's the herbal tea?!"

John's eyes opened wide at her elevated state of anger. He slowly pointed to the cupboard at the far right wall. She quickly moved to open it; opening it with the same ferocity as before. So this is what a pregnant woman is like, he thought.

"John, I don't see it! I think you lied to me."

He made quick work of moving across the kitchen to solve her dilemma and hopefully calm her down. Sitting at the very front of the shelf was the box of peach tranquility herbal tea. Tranquil. Right.

"Oh," was her only response as John handed her the box. "This baby doesn't allow me my black tea because of the…umm…" Irene was stumped and John was practically floored. It had been 8 weeks since the last time they had seen each other and Irene's once composed demeanor had changed so much.

"…The caffeine?" said John, hoping she wouldn't lash out at him for finishing her sentence.

"Right. Yes. The caffeine. Something about fetuses and metabolisms." An unsure Irene was such a rare sight.

"Irene, where's your…girlfriend?"

"Who?" She turned back around to face him as she filled the kettle with that same startled look.

"The woman…from last time…she made the tea."

"Oh, her. She and the driver are somewhere else. Can't remember where but they brought me."

John could only imagine that they had purposely left Irene behind for John to deal with. Poor sods were probably knocking back drinks at a pub.

"Right. Well I'm going to go put my jacket in the bedroom. Careful with the stove."

"Of course I'll be careful. Why would you think I wouldn't be careful?" Her accusatory stare was enough to make John take a step back. Honesty was probably not the best response in this case.

"The stove has a tendency to…spark a bit when you light it."

She believed it and John quickly left the kitchen. Once inside his bedroom he shook his head. The doctor in him sympathized with her and all of the changes her body had to go through. All the anger he once had towards Irene had evaporated. It was difficult to face her now, knowing the history she had with Sherlock, and knowing that she carries his child, but this was the chance to move past it. The doctor in him had come to terms.

Afterwards, he went back into the kitchen to see how she was doing. Irene had her back to him again and was staring down at the kettle willing it to boil.

"Irene!" John yelped as he pulled her away from the stove. Her stomach just inches from the flame. "You could have burned…" John's sentence trailed off as he looked at her face in horror. Tears were streaming down her face.

John took her by the hand and led her into the sitting room to have a seat. "Irene, are you hurt?" At a glance there seemed to be nothing wrong with her. Of course some women experience headaches, chills, or fevers. She could be experiencing any number of those things. "Irene, you have to tell me what's wrong," he said as he felt her forehead.

"The water is taking so long to boil," she said in another teary haze. John visibly relaxed and began laughing. "It's not funny," she said which just made John laugh even more.

"I'm sorry…It's just I was afraid you were seriously injured," it wasn't the whole truth but it was true. The relief of knowing that she was okay just hormonal was enough to make him laugh. "You just sit here and I will get the tea."

By the time, John went back to the kitchen, the water was ready and after a couple minutes of steeping two herbal teas, the tea was ready. He placed two teacups on the coffee table and sat down on the couch next to her. She looked better now that she was just sitting and sipping her tea.

"I got the adoption papers you sent. You probably already knew that since I'm here." John just nodded in response.

After a pause, John asked, "What do we do from here?"

"Well you should probably look into buying something for a baby," she said as she looked around his flat.

"Right. It's been a bit hectic since I signed the papers."

"Well now you have 13 weeks until the baby gets here. Should be enough – " she cut herself off mid-sentence as she clutched her stomach. Oh god. It's too soon to go into labor. She just said 13 weeks! "Sorry. This baby must be a future football star because he is doing quite the number on my uterus."

John gave a nervous laugh. His therapist had just told him how he would not be bonded the baby until much later and seeing Irene in her state had confirmed that. Hearing that Hamish was inside Irene, kicking her insides, well it was an odd emotion. On the one hand, he never really liked Irene but as of Friday, she was the mother of his unborn son. Just thinking the words unborn son felt strange. It was still not real. Usually this would be the point where he would ask to feel the kicking but it was Irene. And it was her body. It would be too awkward to feel her stomach.

"Want to feel? Never pass up an opportunity to have a man's hands feel you." Of course she would be the one to ask.

John wanted to say no. It was strange enough that she was carrying his baby but to actually touch her stomach would cross some line. Dr Ella would probably say he was avoiding touching her because he still held onto some resentment. Eventually, John agreed.

Irene grabbed his hand and moved it to the top of her stomach. The red fabric of the dress was smooth under his fingers and underneath that, he could feel the hardness of her stomach. Her gaze was fixed on their overlapping hands as she waited for the movement. Moments passed and still John had not felt anything. He looked around the flat because staring and waiting was becoming too awkward to bear.

Soon after, a small kick hit the palm of his hand. He turned back to look at his hand and Irene was looking at him hoping he had felt it. Before John could nod, another kick hit his hand. Not as forceful as the first one but it was a similar sensation.

"Every night. I think he gets bored in there," Irene said.

John retracted his hand from her stomach. He just smiled and nodded at her. Feeling the baby kick was an odd sensation. He understood the biology involved with fetal development. You can't go through medical school and not be familiar. Kicking happens pretty much throughout the pregnancy and is just a sign that his cognitive mind is functioning.

A knocking at the door interrupted his thoughts and John stood to answer it. At the doorway stood Irene's girlfriend.

"Oh, right," chirped Irene as she stood and put her shoes on. "We have a doctor's appointment."

"We?" said John as Irene pulled him through the doorway. He had just enough time to grab his cane before she was hauling him down the stairs.

Outside, Irene's driver was waiting for them. He took them to the same clinic they had visited two months ago. On the car ride, John subconsciously rubbed the spot on his palm where he had felt the baby kick while he closed his eyes to not have to see the children strolling through London.

Once inside the patient's room, Irene assumed her position on the patient's table and John took his seat in a chair. When the doctor walked in, it felt odd to be on the patient side of things.

"Back again, welcome," said the doctor as he extended his hand to John. "Let's take a look and see just how the fetus is coming along."

A measurement of Irene revealed that the baby was going to be bigger than average. "Well that's good news," said Irene, "I wanted a cesarean anyway."

"Yes, if the fetus stays on the path it is on, we may need to schedule you a cesarean but that will be much later," said the doctor.

Next the doctor started up the ultrasound machine. After a few moments, Hamish's 27-week-old body flickered onto the screen. The view was in profile and John could make out the nose and head. To the left of the nose, where the mouth should be, was a tiny fist.

"Looks like he's a thumb sucker," said the doctor. He and Irene laughed as John continued to stare.

The camera panned farther left and the feet came into view. Again, John subconsciously rubbed the palm of his hand as he watched the baby moving on the screen. Another kick, a surprised "oh" from Irene, and John was a happy father to be.


	11. Ch 11 Friday 7 September Year 1

Friday 7 September

4:04pm

A full day of patients with maladies varying from common colds to sprained wrists and Doctor John Watson was done. The number of pediatric patients had lowered considerably to which the doctor was most grateful. It had been almost a week since the adoption papers had been signed and yet the reality had not overtaken him completely.

It was still difficult to see other people with their children and know that will be him soon enough but for some reason, it did not feel threatening. Feeling Hamish kick his hand? Well that was just biology in play. The bond between father and child was definitely not there.

The first time he had seen the ultrasound he had cried. Now he couldn't remember why. It was probably left over feelings from having lost his best friend a couple weeks prior.

Currently John was limping his way from the clinic to the tube station. His Friday evening route never varied which only served to make him frustrated when he saw the black car pull up beside him. Maybe if he had turned right on the previous street, Mycroft wouldn't have found him so easily but even John knew it would have only taken Mycroft a couple extra seconds to make the adjustment.

When the car stopped, John opened the door and slid inside. As in previous occasions, "Anthea" sat in the back seat typing on her phone as the car pulled away from the curb. John didn't bother acknowledging her since she was hardly ever off her phone.

Soon the car stopped in front of a small fancy restaurant. Had the place been opened, John would have felt the need to dress nicer but since it seemed Mycroft had reserved the entire place, he felt no need to put on airs for him.

Inside the empty restaurant, Mycroft sat at a small round table in the middle of the floor. John walked over to him and took a seat at the only other place setting on the table. It came complete with pasta in a creamy sauce and a glass of wine.

"I believe congratulations are in order," were Mycroft's first words and John knew exactly what he was referring to. Controlling the government, it was no surprise Mycroft already knew about the adoption. To be honest, John was surprised it took him this long to contact him. John lifted his glass and took a drink in acknowledgment of Mycroft's congratulations.

Mycroft let him eat his pasta in peace until he was almost done at which point he slid a piece of paper on the tabletop in John's direction. John put his fork down and picked it up. As he had suspected, the piece of paper was a check. The check was for an amount that John could not have imagined ever seeing in his lifetime.

"This is Sherlock's inheritance?" asked John as he looked at Mycroft. Mr. and Mrs. Holmes must be related to the queen if they have this amount of money to give away.

"That is a majority of Sherlock's and the rest I added from my own income. If you need more – "

"No. Oh god no. This is too much," said John and he slid the check back in Mycroft's direction.

Mycroft cocked an eyebrow and said, "Did you want me to give you a smaller amount? Send it to you in payments?"

"No, nothing like that. Just…keep it. If I need your financial help I will let you know. I'm going to see if I can do it alone. For now, keep your money and when the time comes, you can pay for Hamish's schooling." John paused and looked down at his shaky hands. "I don't want him to have to choose military service because he can't afford his schooling like I did."

There was a silence between them during which Mycroft took back the check on the table and ripped it. "That wasn't the only reason you chose the service," he said as he gave John a look of speculation. "You enjoy action and challenges. The clinic doesn't provide that does it."

"No, I can't say it does. It's been pretty dull." John wondered if he was supposed to return the social cue and ask him how the government was doing. He probably wouldn't have gotten very much.

"Well it's just like I said the first time I met you. Sherlock led you through London's battlefield and it helped you. Now that he's gone, what are you going to do?"

John looked out of the glass doorway in front of them. The London traffic was particularly thick this hour of the day. People passed by keeping their heads bent and talking on the phone. The CCTV cameras watching their every move but as long as they kept their head low, they would not be disturbed. "He's gone and I don't know anymore." John stopped looking out the door and looked to Mycroft. "Why did you do it?"

Of course Mycroft knew what he meant but still he took a minute to choose his words carefully. "I didn't know the full extent of the game – "

"Game? You're just like him. It isn't a game when people's lives are at stake. Sherlock died because you gave Moriarty permission to ruin him."

Mycroft was no longer looking at him. John could see there were many things he wanted to say to him but decided against it all and said, "My brother has very little self preservation. To die by his own hand is the way he would have wanted to go."

"Sure his self preservation was non-existent but I thought he had you to protect him." John went back to looking out of the glass door. "Sherlock was right about something then. You were his archenemy. You were his downfall." Mycroft shifted uncomfortably next to John but didn't say anything. He continued to let John believe what he wanted and made no move to defend himself. "I don't know if I can ever forgive you."

"Does that mean you don't want me around when Hamish is born?" Mycroft asked. His voice was too cold for the emotions contained in what he said.

John thought about not ever having contact with Mycroft and never again feeling the urge to want to punch him but decided not to alienate him. John was never one to make enemies. "No. It just means that when it comes to Sherlock's death, I will forever blame you."

"I blame myself as well." And he looked like he meant it so John made no mention of it again.

John beamed and said, "Have you given thought to what you want to be referred to as? Mycroft? Or Uncle Mycroft?"

John laughed at the look of shock and disgust on Mycroft's face. It would seem he was not the only one dealing with the shock.

When John was done laughing, he bid Mycroft goodbye and stood up to leave. As he was leaving, he saw Mycroft on his phone talking to someone.


	12. Ch 12 Monday 10 September Year 1

**A/N: **As you may have noticed, I don't really like to do author's notes because it disrupts the reading process. At least it does for me. Anyway, the reason I'm making this one is because I wanted to thank those of you who wrote reviews for me. They are lovely. Also, for this chapter, it's sort of tacked on to the last chapter. You'll see what I mean when you get to it.

Monday, 10 September

7:56 A.M.

Monday morning at the clinic once again. The monotony of the everyday diagnoses were taking its toll on John's psyche. The leg would not stop hurting.

"Good morning Doctor Watson," came Peter's voice over the intercom.

Is it? Is it really a 'good' morning? "Morning Peter."

"Doctor DuBois wants to see you in his office."

DuBois? But he's never here. Doctor DuBois was chief of the medical staff. Essentially he was Sarah's boss. While Sarah dealt with the day-to-day clinic maladies, DuBois dealt with the senior doctors who worked part of their time at Bart's. "Umm…I'll be there. Thanks Peter."

Cane or no cane? Well it wasn't like he had much choice this morning. Perhaps in weeks past, he could have had the luxury of a choice but even standing hurt.

John stood and left his small office to the outside hallway and passed through the senior doctor's offices and found the one labeled DuBois. He knocked once which was immediately followed by a "come in".

Doctor DuBois' office, like all the other senior doctors offices, was much bigger. It was essentially two rooms. One half held bookcases and a large desk while the other half held all the things necessary for patients. Rather than walking through hallways to see patients, their patients came to them.

John sat in the chair directly in front of DuBois' desk, which was littered with several pieces of paper.

"Doctor Watson, it's nice to finally meet you. I had only heard of you but had never got the chance to actually make your acquaintance."

He was taken aback by the doctor's words. How could the head of the medical staff know him? Unless he had heard all of the awful things John had done and was now here to fire him.

John stayed silent not knowing how to respond. Saying that he had heard of the doctor, well that would have been obvious since it was his boss. Bringing up the fact that he must have heard only bad things that would have been asking to get sacked.

"You're probably wondering why I asked you to meet me here," said Doctor Dubois

"To be honest, I'm surprised you had heard of me."

"Of course I have. You're Doctor John Hamish Watson. The army doctor who served in Afghanistan but was wounded in action," he said as he gave a quick look at John's cane.

Usually when people knew about John, it was due to his association with Sherlock or his blog about Sherlock. On one occasion he had a patient who had asked him if he was going to update his blog since the last time. John had not updated since a few days following Sherlock's funeral but it seemed the patient did not know about the circumstances surrounding Sherlock's death so he made no mention of them and just said he would not be updating again.

It was a common point of conversation for people who claimed to know him to bring up. The fact that the doctor made no mention of it only roused John's suspicion.

"As I was saying, the reason I called you in here this morning is because I want to offer you a promotion," said the doctor with an overly cheery smile.

John's entire body jerked involuntarily at the doctor's statement. If someone had asked him why he thought the doctor would have wanted to speak to him, a promotion would have been the last thing to cross his mind.

DuBois watched the shock play across John's face and continued as before, "You would be one of our new senior doctor's. Doctor Sanders is retiring as of this week and I want you to replace her."

John had never been that in tune with the gossip around the clinic. When Sherlock was alive, he had no time. He did his job then returned to chase criminals around London. There was no time for gossip. After his death, he had completely withdrawn so far into himself that he did not care for gossip. Thinking about it now, he was certain he was the center of many rumors but he never acknowledged them.

Even though he did not participate in the gossip, he would have at least heard about Doctor Sanders' plans to retire. She was a good doctor. A little on the flaky side. She could be seen practically running out of the clinic door at closing time but she did not look to be retiree age.

"I had no idea Doctor Sanders was retiring. Was this sudden?"

"She and her husband just came into an unknown sum of money and has decided to retire early," said the doctor as he shrugged his shoulders. His face read as though he found the situation surrounding Doctor Sanders' retirement amusing.

They both lapsed into silence as John sat in his chair unable to think or concentrate clearly and Doctor DuBois debated whether to ask him again or let him sit in silence. When it became clear that John was not going to answer, he asked, "So…Is this a yes? With the promotion there are added benefits." John just continued to sit motionless and stared at the top of the desk. "There is a pay raise. Naturally." Again John did not move. "You receive Doctor Sanders' old office." John still didn't move. "You will have to attend a yearly conference. Expenses paid." Still no movement. "Instead of working Monday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday. You will get an extra day off so, you would work Monday, Wednesday, and Friday except that Friday you will work at Bart's in the Emergency room."

At that John's head snapped up. He had expected the addition of working at Bart's on Fridays, naturally. What he did not expect was to work in the emergency unit. "Emergency? But all the senior doctors are surgeons at Bart's."

The doctor nodded and said, "Yes, but I know of your predicament and how you cannot perform surgery anymore so therefore I was able to have you work in the emergency unit instead."

John's brain was slow to understand. The hospital was willing to lose a surgeon and add a doctor to their emergency unit instead? How could that be right? Why even bend the rules for an invalided army doctor?

The doctor carried on listing John's added benefits, "So along with all of that, your vacation days and sick leave days will stay the same but you will have the added benefit of…family leave. That is…should you need it."

John looked up at the doctor. Doctor DuBois shifted uncomfortably in his gaze and instead shuffled some papers on his desk. John's first thought at hearing that he would get family leave was that the doctor knew. He knew about Hamish. He knew his plans to be a father. Someone had told him. "Should you need it." The doctor had practically admitted it.

But who could have told him? The number of people who knew of the adoption were very limited and did not include anyone at the clinic. They all knew about John's various ailments and psychiatric meltdowns but they did not know he was planning on becoming a father. The only people that knew were Irene, his therapist, Lestrade, Harry, Mycroft…

Of course…there could only have been one person who could have orchestrated something like this. Working in an emergency room. Family leave. Doctor Sanders' coming into money and retiring. Just the fact that he was even offered the promotion even though any of the other doctors in the clinic deserved it more than he did. It all smelled of Mycroft's doing. It was probably his way of helping John stand on his own two feet since he refused the check and would not forgive him for Sherlock's death. Mycroft can take his apology and shove it. John would never forgive him.

John was aware that Doctor DuBois was talking but he was not listening. It was up to him now. Accepting the promotion would be accepting Mycroft's help. He did not need Mycroft's help. He was perfectly capable.

The more John thought about it. The more appealing it felt to have the opportunity to work in emergency. Helping patients at a moments notice. Bandaging and stitching wounds. It was definitely a step above sprained wrists.

"…you could start this week –"

"I accept."

Doctor DuBois was startled out of his speech by John's proclamation. The doctor just blinked at him and said, "Oh…o – okay."

John confidently stood up and nodded his head to the doctor. Doctor DuBois was still frozen in his seat unsure of what to say next so John asked, "How much is he paying you and Doctor Sanders'?"

At that the doctor's blank stare turned to shock. He quickly wiped it away and tried to compose his expression as he said, "I don't think I know what you're talking about."

John was halfway to the door when he turned around and looked at the doctor's desk. The desk was scattered with papers of various emails and miscellaneous memos. Among them, John could see that there were a few sheets that contained his name and information. The papers gave basic information such as his full name, his work experience in the war, his education, and his medical information. All of the information the doctor had named in his introduction of him. Underneath the pile, John could just make out an "under new management sale" flyer for Janus Cars. _No difficult leap_.

John nodded his head. "Right," he said as he departed for his former office.

4:00 P.M.

"Evening Peter," said John as he waved a hand in Peter's general direction.

Done with another Monday at the clinic. The monotony was only cut by the anticipation of working at Bart's on Friday. It was finally something to look forward to.

The news of the promotion had not gotten around the clinic yet but the news of Doctor Sanders' retirement had. Her retirement party was planned for that Wednesday and the other doctors in the clinic were buzzing with excitement at the prospect that they might be the one to replace her. John just kept his head low and hoped the backlash would not be too horrible. There was bound to be backlash, outrage, confusion, and questions. They had all seen his mental state. To promote him would be to wonder what sort of favor he had performed. Once they hear about the adoption, they will most likely suspect Doctor DuBois took pity.

It was all too much hassle and it was a hassle that could be dealt with another time. For now, John just walked over to the local family clinic.

At the clinic, John was greeted with posters pertaining to women's health. The magazines on the table were about child care and the modern family structure. It was all so overwhelming that John debated just leaving and lying to his therapist about attending. In the end, what made him not leave was knowing that without their help, he was not going to know how to care for a baby.

John approached the counter where a woman greeted him and asked, "How may I help you?"

"I was hoping to sign up for a…um…parenting class?" He was unsure of the correct term.

"Right. We offer a couple of different types of classes on different days of the week." She opened up a pamphlet and showed him the schedule to look over. "Also, we offer child development services. So should your child need anything ranging from a quality healthcare professional to quality day care, we offer people you can talk to on those subjects specifically," she said as she opened a new pamphlet.

She was on the verge of grabbing a third pamphlet when John just held up his hand to stop her and said, "Thank you. I was just looking for parenting classes. Mind if I have a seat."

"Go right ahead. Take your time."

John went over to have a seat in the waiting room and looked over the different classes. There were classes based on the age of the children. There was a class based on special needs. There was a class based on gender and another based on ethnicity.

John sat quietly looking over and reading up on the classes while the woman behind the counter called out behind her, "Alex." There was some shuffling and a mention of coffee. A few moments later a voice close to John said, "Sir, would you like a cup of coffee?"

He looked up to see a young girl, mid-twenties, looking at him with a happy smile on her face. She looked like the kind of person cut from the same cloth as Molly; all smiles and sweetness. A look at her name-tag confirmed that she was the Alex the woman behind the counter had called. It also stated her position as an intern for the clinic. John found it hard to say no so he gave her his coffee order.

When she came back with his coffee, she sloshed a bit on his hand as she handed it to him. The smile quickly melted into worry and embarrassment. She handed him more than enough napkins to clean up the spilled coffee. She even offered to make him a new cup but instead John just asked her questions about the information in the pamphlets in order to calm her down.

"Is the adoptive parent class any good?" John expected her eyes to widen with surprise or show some emotion at his confirmation of adoption but there was none. She took the news in stride.

"I don't actually get to instruct that class," she said, embarrassed. "I'm only an intern but I do know the instructors and they are very good. One of the instructors has adopted three children of her own along with her partner. And the other instructor wrote her dissertation on adoptive parents. For confidentiality reasons I cannot tell you much about the parents who attend the class only that they range from people who will be parents, to parents already raising adoptive children. There are also parents ranging from different circumstances surrounding the adoption. I'm told that class gives parents a sense of camaraderie."

Alex's rambling was full of energy and happiness. It made John wonder if he had made the wrong choice of profession. The women at the clinic seemed delighted by what they do. A difference to the clinic where he worked where everyone was just waiting for four o'clock.

In the end, John decided on the adoption parenting class held on Thursdays. He waved goodbye to the women and they eagerly returned the gesture.


	13. Ch 13 Friday 14 September Year 1

Friday 14 September

6:30 A.M.

John eagerly rolled out of bed and into his daily routine. It was the first day working at Bart's and he did not want to miss a moment of it.

Everyone at the clinic would know of his promotion by now but luckily, John was not around to see their shock. It was an upside to getting an extra day off. At Wednesday's retirement party, everyone talked about who would be the one to replace Doctor Sanders. Even Sarah had no clue and since Doctor DuBois made a point to not be present, speculations circulated about who would be the new senior doctor. Having missed work on Thursday, John being the new senior doctor would have been a logical conclusion for everyone at the clinic to come to. All that was left was to clean out his old office Monday morning and move into Doctor Sanders' old one.

The day before had been his first day at the adoption parenting class. As promised, the parents in the class were on a broad scale. One couple, Mark and Christy had adopted their son two months after he was born. Another woman, Eleanor, was adopting her sister's two daughters. John was the only one in the group who was in the process of adopting a child that hadn't been born yet. There was a lot to be said about the subject and it was nice to know that he was not alone in how he felt.

Drinking tea in the kitchen, John tried to calm himself before walking to Bart's. It would be the first time going there since Sherlock's fall. It had been a point of conversation in Tuesday's meeting with Doctor Ella. She had told him to approach the scene as a remembrance. To not dwell on what happened but to remember what he meant in his life. _"Sherlock's memory will be forever with you since you will be taking in his son. Working at the hospital will only be another piece of that. If you can handle working at the hospital then that is a step towards being able to raise a child of Sherlock Holmes."_ How the two could be so similar, John had no idea. It was another situation where he just had to blindly go ahead and try. If anything went wrong, there was a whole clinic full of doctors eager to take his place.

7:30 A.M.

John emerged from the tube station near Bart's and made his way to the building. He dared not look up for fear of setting off a trigger. The entire area was full of people milling about without a care in the world while John tried his hardest to not stop and run back the other way.

When he reached the front of the building, his curiosity could not be stopped any longer. He looked down at the spot where he grabbed a hold of Sherlock's wrist for the last time. The pavement did not even have a stain on it. It had been three months and already there was no physical trace left.

John only started his trek back inside the building when the throbbing in his leg began again. Once inside he found Doctor DuBois who led him to the emergency unit team.

He was the oldest in the emergency team. They all looked to have just finished their medical school training. There were even a couple of students who had not finished their school training. John had to swallow his pride and be led by a team leader who was almost 10 years younger than him.

When the first emergency patient arrived, John stuck close to the team leader, Doctor Spencer Clark. The doctor barked orders and John obeyed. It was just like being back in Afghanistan. The conditions were different but the pace was the same. Their first patient was a heart attack. You don't encounter very many heart attacks in the war but the urgency was familiar.

12:00 P.M.

At noon John took his lunch. When he had left the emergency room, traffic had calmed down considerably. John went down to the bottom floor of the hospital to have lunch in the cafeteria.

Upon entering, it was like being back in secondary school. All of the doctor's there knew each other. There were the young surgeons eating together. The other senior doctor's who were surgeons today but working at the clinic on Monday. The doctor's who worked in pediatrics. The nurses divided up by floor. The instructional teachers (Mike seemed to be missing from them. Probably eating lunch at a park again.)

Instead, John just turned around and headed down the familiar hallway to the morgue. He had been there enough times to know exactly where it was. Inside, Molly sat alone eating lunch and filling out paperwork about the dead man's body in front of her.

As soon as she saw him she looked completely confused and then scared. "John? John, are you alright?"

Then it was John's turn to be confused, "Of course I'm fine. I just wanted to see if I could have lunch with you."

Her scared and confused look did not quit though. "Yes. Of course you can but what are you doing here?"

"I work here now." At that her face relaxed completely. "It's only on Fridays though as part of my promotion."

Molly beamed at him and said, "Congratulations. How exciting. Where exactly are you working?"

"In the emergency unit. It's a perfect fit really," John said as he chuckled a little. "Mycroft never does things without getting every detail right."

Again, Molly managed to work herself into agitation. "Mycroft? What about Mycroft?"

John just laughed at her more. "I guess I'm not supposed to know but he's the one who scored me this job."

"Why would he do that? Does he want something from you?"

John gave her a curious look. Molly was usually not one to pry but at any mention of his life she seemed uncommonly curious as though waiting for something to be wrong. "No. I don't think he wants anything but forgiveness."

"Forgiveness for Sherlock?"

Again John just turned and stared at her. No one besides him and Sherlock (well used to know) knew about Mycroft's betrayal. "Partially…" He trailed off, unsure how to continue. "Have you spoken to Mycroft?"

"Me? Not for ages." She gave a nervous chuckle.

Molly was still one of the people that didn't know about the adoption and now he was unsure if he should tell her. She looked nervous as hell and John didn't know how much of that was just Molly's usual character or something else. In the end John decided it was best to tell her. She would need to find out sooner or later.

"Umm…well I think…part of the reason Mycroft got me the promotion is because…I'm going to be a father." Jesus. The words felt completely foreign on his tongue but he did not let Molly see.

At his words Molly's eyes widened with shock. If John had not felt nervous before, he certainly felt it now. "You're…You're going to be a father. Wow…I had heard you were doing better since…since Sherlock. I just didn't know how well."

"Oh, no it's not like that. I'm adopting."

"Adopting? Are you adopting a puppy?"

"No, it's a baby. A human baby. Sherlock's baby actually."

And there it was. Her look of absolute shock, amusement, and confusion.

"How? How is that possible? What do you mean Sherlock's baby?"

"I mean he had a one night shag with Irene Adler and now she's carrying his baby which I will be adopting."

Molly looked down at her paperwork but was not actually reading it. Her breathing was erratic. This was definitely not the reaction John had been expecting. Out of everyone he had expected Molly to be the most accepting but here she was having a miniature breakdown. It was common knowledge that she had had a thing for Sherlock Holmes and maybe this was her way of grieving. John had no recollection of the number of tears she had shed over his death. He could only remember his own but she must have felt something over his loss. The news that Sherlock was a father to be must be as painful for her to accept as it was for John.

John placed his hand on her shoulder comfortingly as she tried to regulate her breathing again.

When she had finally gotten herself under control she said, "So when will the baby be born?"

"The end of November or the beginning of December."

"That's soon," she breathed.

John didn't know what else to say. She had taken the news in a pretty awful manner, which was unexpected.

"Did Sherlock know he was going to be a father?" she asked.

"I'm not sure. Irene said she started trying to contact him a short while before…that. And who ever really knows what Sherlock knows."

Molly's hands were still clenched in fists. She looked indecisive. Indecisive about what, John had no idea. He decided to just sit near her and eat lunch, being mindful of the body on the table.

Ultimately, Molly found herself again. She nervously asked him questions about the baby.

"It's a boy. Hamish is what we're going to call him," John said. A bit unsure about who the "we" was referring to.

John spent the rest of the lunch hour in Molly's company. Before leaving, he left Molly staring at her computer screen but motionless. Her confusion and indecisiveness back again.

4:00 P.M.

John's leg was almost painless. There was still a slight twinge of pain but it was better than what it had been. Walking out of the front door of Bart's he felt better than he had in a long time.

One look at the place where he had once stood outside Bart's undid all of that. The small street and the low building were there still. Against his better judgment, John went to get another look.

There was literally no physical mark that read he had once stood there and watched his friend die. It was only in his dreams and in his mind that the traces were left.

A look behind him and he could have looked at the ledge Sherlock fell from but he did not dare. It was too much too soon. He did not look back at all. Instead he walked over behind the small building.

On the wall there he was greeted by a shock of yellow paint. The paint was still fresh and it spelled out the word "Believe".

John's cane clattered to the ground as he let it go and had to brace himself on the wall. He looked around to see who could have left the message but there was no one around.

It was the same color yellow as the banker case but John had included that information in the blog post so it could have been any one of his readers. In the end John decided it must have been Bryce and his graffiti gang. They were the only ones who could have known what kind of paint it was and it definitely looked like the same kind of paint.

When he had wiped his hands of the yellow paint, quite unsuccessfully, John picked up his cane and walked to the tube station. His stride was much straighter and less limp but he did not notice.


	14. Ch 14 Saturday 15 September Year 1

A/N: I made a post of what I think John's flat looks like so go ahead and check that out mu5icliz . tumblr (.com) private/43210067312/tumblr_miavr1KbtR1r4aqvm

Also, this chapter started off super serious but then it quickly took a turn into humor? Anyway, I hope you can all follow the dialogue. Thanks.

Saturday 15 September

10:00 A.M.

After a long bath, John sipped his tea while leaning against the kitchen counter. He looked out into the emptiness of his flat knowing that things were about to change again. John and change had crossed paths so many times that he was no longer afraid or reluctant. Change was constantly happening just as miracles had always happened. Miracles like narrowly escaping death in war or, in cases, by his own hand. Miracles like being able to enjoy a hot cup of tea in the morning, healing the wounded in the afternoon, and catching criminals by night. Miracles like meeting the right person who gives you a reason to live again. Now he wasn't sure if change would ever lead to more miracles.

Today was the day that John had decided the remodeling needed to take place. During Thursday's parenting meeting, they had all advised him to prepare for the baby. In other words John needed to spend money on baby clothes and nappies. So with one last look at the flat with blank and empty walls, he left for London's shopping district.

11:34 A.M.

London's shopping district turned out to be even more expensive than he had anticipated. It's baby clothes. There is less fabric and even then the price was only a couple pounds short of an adult male's outfit.

He walked into the nearest department store that looked like it would be in his price range. Normally it was easy to shop. They put men's clothing near the entrances and the checkouts near that. Now he was forced to look at the store directory after circling the store a couple times.

When he reached the baby section he rifled through their very limited selection and stared at the overwhelming amount of pastel. He picked up the first garment, a pastel blue one piece. The tag said newborn and still it looked like it belonged to a doll.

John had seen newborns before. His job required it and he knew what the average weight of a baby was. Still the clothing looked so small when held up against his body.

He had not noticed he was holding the small pastel blue one piece close to his body. He also did not notice the gaggle of older women passing by. He only noticed once one of them called out his name.

Mrs. Hudson stood there looking deeply confused, as were the four other women standing behind her. He only recognized Mrs. Turner among them.

John looked down at himself and saw his cane leaning against the rest of the baby clothes and his hands still on the blue one piece. He dropped it then looked back up at the women still watching him. He cleared his throat then said, "Mrs. Hudson…and ladies," giving a nod of acknowledgement to the women.

"Is your sister having a baby?" asked Mrs Hudson.

"Oh, uh, no not her," he answered as he wrung his hands together.

Mrs. Hudson turned around to look at the women and said, "You go on ahead without me girls. I think I'll stay behind with John."

Once the group of women had left them behind, John bent to pick up the garment he had dropped. The stiffness in his leg was back and with a wince of pain, he got back up. Mrs. Hudson was still watching him unsure of what to make of him.

Then she piped up and asked, "Lunch?"

12:03 P.M.

They settled at a nearby café to talk over sandwiches and afternoon coffee. On the walk there, Mrs. Hudson made no mention of the cane. John had seen the look of pain that crossed her face when he gripped it but nothing else. Instead, she asked how he was doing at his new flat and how work was. Just general questions that John answered with "fine".

When they were settled in and all the social cues were taken care of, Mrs. Hudson looked at him and asked, "Who is having a baby?"

He didn't look up from his sandwich and answered with, "I am."

Mrs. Hudson beamed and warmly grabbed his hand. "Congratulations. From the look on your face, though, it would seem this is not such good news for you."

"It's complicated." Complicated didn't even begin to describe it. There were mornings where he woke up wondering if he had made a mistake. There were mornings where he was happy to have something to look forward to. Other times he wondered how he was ever going to do something like this for the next seventeen years at the least.

"Was it under unfortunate circumstances?" Then she lowered her voice, "Did you cheat on Sherlock?"

"What? No. I mean. We weren't together. I didn't cheat. He cheated. Well actually we weren't together so no one cheated." He took a deep breath to steady the stream of words coming out of his mouth then said, "Mrs. Hudson, I'm adopting. Sherlock left behind a pregnant woman and I have agreed to take in their son as my own."

"Oh, well still congratulations. Why would Sherlock have killed himself knowing the two of you were going to have a baby?"

John rubbed his face with his hand in exasperation. "We were not planning on having a baby. He had a one-night shag with a woman he knew and she ended up pregnant. I don't think he knew about the baby before his death."

"So have you got everything ready for the baby?"

"No. That's what I was hoping to do today but turns out I'm rubbish at it. It's not looking so good for fatherhood."

She gripped his hand forcefully this time, forcing John to look up. "Well first you need to stop sulking. It's a baby not a death sentence. Secondly, not being able to buy baby clothes is not an accurate estimation of fatherhood. Wait until the end of your life to know if you did a good job raising him. Lastly, it's clear to me you won't be able to do this all on your own which is why you are not going to do this alone. I will help you. You were at the wrong store anyway. Their selection is ghastly."

John gave a small chuckle and sighed in relief. "Mrs. Hudson, have you ever had children?"

To his surprise her commanding demeanor turned a bit jumpy at his words. "Me? No. No. My husband and I were not exactly perfect. Well no one is. Well we didn't have the right environment for a baby. Ever." So John didn't ask any other questions.

1:10 P.M.

"See this is the store you should be shopping at."

"Mrs. Hudson, I didn't even tell you my budget."

"There is no budget when it comes to your children. You should learn that sooner rather than later."

The store conveniently offered a checklist of things necessary for a newborn. John grabbed it expecting it to be a flier. But it turned out to be a pamphlet with multiple pages. "Does _everything_ about children need to be in pamphlets?" he muttered. The list included all of the baby necessities as well as the things that were optional.

Mrs. Hudson grabbed a trolley and headed down the first aisle (nursery) with John in tow. "Now, what is the sleeping arrangement going to be like?" she asked him.

John just stammered then read off the list in the pamphlet. "_Crib, blankets, crib bedding, and mattress?"_

"And the bumpers. Don't forget that."

"That's in the optional list," he pleaded.

"Nevertheless, you don't want to have an accident on your hands," she commanded. "Now come on, I think I see a mahogany crib."

John groaned and was pulled along with her.

1:27 P.M.

"It looks like a jail cell."

"And the last one looked like petting zoo. I'm not the one who designed these. If you'd like we could try the expensive shop in Battersea –"

"The white jail cell is fine."

1:47 P.M.

"It's going to be a little boy just so you know."

"It's a little early to start assigning gender roles, John. Now hand me the lavender swaddler."

2:09 P.M.

"Cars, fairies, monkeys, or bunny rabbits?"

"I really don't know. None of those are on my list."

"You just pick one of the four, John."

"Whichever one you said last."

2:23 P.M.

"It's _London_! We use _tubes_."

"You aren't planning on taking your baby home for the first time on the _tube_ are you? You need a _proper_ car seat."

"I can carry the baby in my arms on the taxi if that satisfies the situation."

"One never knows when you will be required to be in a car. You need to be prepared."

2:51 P.M.

"Two buggy's? This list must be defective."

"Let me see…no it's right. A lightweight and a full size."

"Two? Why two?"

"Depends on the situation. One is for easy transport. Another is for long trips."

"Keeping him indoors until he's old enough to walk is starting to look like the better option."

"Even then you will need it for naps, for feeding…"

"Okay, okay…"

3:05 P.M.

"Exactly how many taxi's am I planning on taking back to my flat?"

"However many are necessary. I believe we'll need a second trolley. We can put the bouncer on that one."

3:19 P.M.

"John, dear, which one, Bears, giraffes, or ducklings?"

"What do we have so far?...We don't have ducks, so ducks."

3:35 P.M.

"Exactly how many bottles is _too_ many bottles because I think we have blurred that line."

"Bottles get lost, broken, worn out. You will need quite a few. Get the 24 pack of soothers behind you while you're at it."

3:47 P.M.

"Mrs Hudson, what on God's earth are booties?"

"They're like shoes but for babies. Keeps the toes warm. The winter months are coming."

4:12 P.M.

"Sherlock's skin tone. Would you say it was fair, medium, or olive?"

"Umm…fair I guess. Why?"

"Well according to Connie Prince, if you have fair skin tones you should stay away from beige and orange. Drains you. Instead you wear navy, red, or black."

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"John, I can see the navy blue one piece you're holding behind your back…honestly."

"We have enough to satisfy any color scheme."

"We can't be sure what his skin tone will be. Are you _trying_ to drain him?"

4:25 P.M.

"_How_ have they not thrown us out yet?"

"You will probably be one of their best clients. You're welcome."

4:37 P.M.

"Sir, did you find everything okay?"

"Yes, I should say so. Your entire stockroom is fairly easy to find."

4:39 P.M.

"Sir, would you like to receive emails about our special offers? …Is that a no?"

"The day I'm back here it will be too soon."

4:45 P.M.

"Could you slide your card again? …No could you slide it again."

"Now I'm not sure what's worse, chip and pin machines or _this bloody key pad_."

4:48 P.M.

"_Assistance in checkout 3"_

5:13 P.M.

"That's it boys. In you go. I would help but I still haven't taken my evening soother."

"Do not break that. That was 127 pounds."

"If we could leave some sort of pathway between the door and the bedroom that would be best."

"It's not like I ever needed to use my dining table."

5:34 P.M.

The flat was an absolute wreck. The cab drivers and the movers from the store had dropped everything off and left with their tip in hand. The place was unrecognizable. Once Mrs. Hudson had checked to make sure everything was there she offered to buy him dinner.

"For what it's worth John, I think you'll be an excellent provider."


	15. Ch 15 Tuesday 25 September Year 1

Tuesday, 25 September

Heart pounding, breathing erratic, and moving as fast as his legs could carry him, John searched the pool gymnasium as fast as he could. He was here. He had to be here.

He searched in all of the typical places but he could not find him. John even looked into the depths of the water praying to every God that he would not find him there and to his short-lived relief he was not.

He looked up in the rafters hoping to catch a glimpse of any clue that would lead him in finding him but there was nothing there either.

Just as he was about to give up his search of the interior, the door to the far left opened. Out walked the four year old closely followed by Moriarty. A cloth bag had been placed over his head, and his hands were tied in front of him, but there was no mistaking that the four year old was Hamish. Everything in John's body told him that's who it was.

John instinctively reached for the gun in his waistband but found it to be missing. The look of fear and shock incited a laugh from Moriarty who had been standing behind Hamish and grinning at their helplessness.

Moriarty had no defenses. No snipers. No bombs. Just the devilish grin on his face. John took a step in his direction in order to get his hands on him. He did not need a gun to take the man's life.

As soon as John charged in his direction, Moriarty pushed Hamish sideways into the pool. John's eyes widened in horror as he watched the four-year-old fall in and start to sink to the bottom. He quickly gave up on hurting Moriarty and instead dove into the pool.

From the outside, the pool appeared to be nine feet at the most but once inside, John could no longer see the bottom. He could only see Hamish's body sinking lower and lower. The boy was thrashing but it did little to better his situation since his hands were tied. Only his legs kicked wildly.

John dove deeper and deeper. Past ten feet. Past thirteen feet. It was a long time before he finally had the boy's body in hand. As soon as his fingers touched his body, the moving stopped. Hamish's body was limp in his arms as John madly kicked his way to the surface. The distance from depth to surface was much shorter and in a matter of moments, Hamish's body was lying on the tile floor as well as John, coughing and spitting.

John frantically pulled away the cloth bag and gasped. Hamish's face looked exactly like Sherlock's that June day on the pavement of St. Bart's. His eyes were glazed over and staring up at the ceiling, looking at nothing in particular. The features between father and son were eerily similar. The only difference was that Hamish was not covered in blood and was thirty-one years younger.

John managed to push through his shock and started to try and resuscitate him. His screams and sobs of Hamish's name echoed through the empty room. The franticness did not stop. The body underneath his hands only jerked from residual motion of John's hysterical CPR maneuver.

28 – 29 – 30. Pinch and blow.

He watched the chest rise and fall but it was only because of John's manual inhalation. The body did not do it on its own.

He was about to start the procedure again when he decided to look for a pulse. He grabbed the cold white wrist of the four year old but did not feel a pulse.

The doctor in him told him he was dead and gone. There was nothing but a body left.

The father in him desperately bent over his chest to try and hear at least a murmur of a heartbeat but he neither heard nor felt the heart beating.

As he lay bent over the motionless body, his tears soaking the already wet fabric, he at last noticed that the consulting criminal was gone. Off to find a new puzzle and torment another part of John's life.

11:17 A.M.

"Does it always end like that?"

John sat in his usual armchair across from Dr. Ella re-telling her the story of his haunting nightmares. The only reason he wasn't asleep was from the fear and adrenaline coursing through him. He had not been able to sleep the past two nights for fear of reliving the events and now his eyes were deeply lined with purple bruises. "The situation is always different but the result is the same."

The doctor looked at him with more compassion than she had ever shown him. "Do you know what started the nightmares?"

"I don't know if I can remember." Lack of sleep was causing his mind to work through a fog.

"What did you do yesterday?"

"I went to work and tried not to cause trouble." The truth was that when he wasn't falling asleep at his desk he was trying hard to listen and diagnose his patients. The rest of the time he tried to look as deserving of his position as possible. Whispers were still going around the clinic.

"And the day before that?"

"Assembling and reorganizing furniture. Folding clothes away. Putting some sort of order to the chaos of my flat." John rubbed his head and stammered, "I can't remember which day was which. I didn't leave the flat all weekend."

"Okay, how was your day at the hospital on Friday?"

He tried thinking back to that day. When he remembered he confessed, "I lost a patient." John looked out of the window and thought back to the patient. He couldn't recall anything about him or her. It was all a blur. The doctors in his unit scrambling about trying to save their life. All of them hollering over each other and commanding orders. Slowly the pace dwindled down until one solitary doctor pronounced the time of death.

"Was that the first night you had a nightmare?"

John looked back in her direction but did not look at her. His eyes unfocused as he thought back. "No. That night was the second time."

"So Thursday. Thursday was the day of your parenting class. What did you discuss?"

John's eyes remained unfocused as he spoke, "We practiced emergency procedures. What to do if a child is choking. What to do if they are not breathing. We discussed gun safety and the chances of Sudden Infant Death Syndrome."

"And that all scares you?"

Again his answer was far off but instantaneous, "No. I am confident in my abilities."

"Then what has prompted the nightmares."

"Moriarty," he murmured in a disconnected way.

"Sherlock's false nemesis?"

John's eyes quickly rounded on her. "Moriarty was not fake," he hissed.

The doctor just conceded and said, "Okay and the situations he put you in were very real to you."

John just continued to stare at her without a word.

"You have been to the pool in your nightmare?" she asked.

"Yes, it was where Sherlock found me strapped to bombs placed on me by Moriarty."

"It's not always the pool is it?"

"No. Some nights I see Hamish being forced into a taxi and swallowing poison. Another night I saw him abducted and made to eat arsenic flavored sweets," he sighed. "And every time, I'm unable to save him."

The doctor paused and allowed him to recover before saying, "So it isn't the medicinal danger you are troubled about. It is the criminal activity you fear."

John made no movement to answer even though he knew she was right. What it boiled down to was that he was afraid of Moriarty and his web of crime. It was ridiculous fear to have. Mycroft had told him that Moriarty was dead. John had never seen physical proof and the rest of the world needed no physical proof. To them, there never was a Moriarty.

"Can you think of what brought about this fear? You used to catch criminals. What changed that makes you afraid?"

John took time to think about what was different. To be honest, everything was different. New flat that never felt like home. Baby on the way that was not in his plans three months prior. A flat mate who committed suicide. "Everything is different."

What was different went unsaid since the doctor already knew what 'everything' entailed. "In Thursday's meeting, how did you respond? Specifically to the gun safety portion."

He thought back to that Thursday. Mostly they discussed the various dangers around the living space. Gun safety was just one portion of an overall lecture. He said this to the doctor and she raised her eyebrows and settled more comfortably into her seat. After weeks of seeing each other, John was able to read what that meant. It meant that she had drawn some conclusion that John had still not come to. He hated that.

"Why do you think you only remembered the portion about gun safety? Why not the portion on electrical appliances?"

John groaned, wishing she could skip the theatrics and just tell him. "I don't know," he pleaded. "Because I own a gun?"

"That's certainly part of it. But you also own electrical appliances. The difference is that while one helps you make breakfast, the other protects you." She looked at John, her eyes alight with epiphany. "Can you recall what used to keep you safe those nights you would hunt down criminals?"

He thought back to all the cases with Sherlock. The feeling of running down an alleyway pursuing jewel thieves and kidnappers. It was not exactly dangerous by his standards. He tried to think of a time where he was in danger. A time where Moriarty had him dancing in the palm of his hand.

One of those times was the case that lead them to the pool. He had been in danger then with no way of defending himself or Sherlock and yet, he could not recall being afraid. Of course there was a self preservation part of his brain that had been there hoping he wouldn't die but ultimately, that last moment where Sherlock aimed his gun at the bomb, he was at peace. Why? It could have been his last moment of earth and yet he was okay with it.

He recalled the moments prior to Sherlock pointing the gun. Sherlock had looked at him asking for permission to mostly likely die side by side. John said nothing. He had only nodded his head in confirmation. John would not have wanted to die any other way. "It was Sherlock," he whispered. John lifted his gaze to look at the doctor as she nodded. "It was Sherlock," he said much more confidently.

"When you were living with Sherlock, you felt safe because you knew he would be able to save you. Now that he is no longer here, you rely on your gun to feel safe. You may not be in danger but just the feeling that you will be able to protect yourself is enough to let you sleep at night."

John just sat and listened. There was nothing else he could do. He thought about what she had said. Thought about how safe he had felt in 221B. Finally he asked, "So what do I do now?"

"You should ask the instructors of the class that."

"I did."

"And what did they say?"

John had asked the instructors how to keep a baby safe. One of the instructors had looked at him and asked him if he meant keeping them from drowning in a bath or suffocating. John clarified by saying that he meant how to keep a baby safe from crime or attack. The rest of the class and the instructors had looked at him oddly until one of them finally said you call the police.

John told the doctor this and she agreed, "The police are there. That is their job. You don't have to take it upon yourself to fix London's crime problem."

The solution was surprisingly simple so why hadn't he thought of it before? The answer was that John had never been one to let others solve his problem. He was hands on and wanted to solve his own problems. That was life with Sherlock, the war, even school.

When their session had ended he had come to his decision. As soon as he left the doctor's office he was on the tube to his flat to pick up his gun. Then in a cab to the Thames riverbank to throw his gun into its murky depths.


	16. Ch 16 Tuesday, 27 November Year 1

A/N: Thank you for the reviews. A couple notes - check the date and there are several headcanons ahead as well as facts from the Sherlock Casebook.

Tuesday, 27 November

One step and another step. First landing reached.

Another set of stairs and the second landing would be reached. John climbed the steps, one by one. His body singing with want and need to get inside.

Step number 6. Just behind one door and he would be home.

Step number 7. Almost within reach.

Step number 8. He could feel the warmth radiating from the door.

Step number 9. It was oddly quiet.

Step number 10. He realized the warmth was not there.

John had reached the landing but something was not right. It was too cold and silent. He touched the handle and opened the door. What he saw inside made his veins run cold.

It was no longer the 221B he knew. It was empty, bare, and cold. The large red rug on the floor was gone. The sheet music was gone. Even the bullet holes and yellow smiley on the wall were gone.

He stepped inside but all that remained was the wallpaper, the empty bookcases, and the vacant mantle over a hollow fireplace. John went to look at the wallpaper and run his hands over it. The couch was no longer there and he was able to get a proper look but it was all wrong.

He moved to the kitchen and found it completely empty. It was void of scientific equipment, body parts, or chemicals. John could feel his heart beating faster. It was all gone without a trace that a consulting detective and an army doctor once inhabited the place.

8:53 A.M.

John's eyes flew open at the sound of his own heart beating madly. He quickly began calming himself down and assuring himself that it was just a dream. Just a dream where a place that was usually cluttered was now empty.

Why would that bother him? He no longer lived there and it was just a dream where things were gone. No one died or suffered. But still something nagged at him and told him that what he had seen was wrong.

When he finally managed to get himself under control, he shut his alarm off to prevent it from ringing at 9 A.M. Then he rolled onto his back and was startled by what he saw.

The girl from the bar last night was in his bed. He had figured she would have left some time during the night but it turned out she stayed. The previous night had been a blur but that was exactly how the previous weeks had been.

John's life had gone into a steady rhythm of work and casual dating. Sometimes he went out with Lestrade. A couple of times he had even gone with Harry. She had finally convinced him to go to a gay bar with her. Of course that had been more out of curiosity on John's part. No such luck. It seemed he had a type and London's gay bar scene did not offer it.

The clock was winding down and soon he would no longer be able to do this usual routine of waking up to a different women in his bed, so he tried to savor it as much as he could.

Just after nine, he rolled out of bed and stood up to stretch. The girl in his bed (he couldn't recall her name) stirred in her sleep. She saw him starting to begin his morning routine but she just went back to sleep.

Once John was out of the shower, he joined her in the kitchen where she was making tea. It was all very awkward as she handed him his cup and they sipped their tea in silence.

They were both sitting at the counter looking out into the sitting room. Amongst their cups of tea were bottle racks and swaddlers, still unused but just waiting for the day they were needed.

The rest of the flat was in a similar state. Everything was still brand new but anticipating. The white crib with its white bars and colorful mobile was assembled in his bedroom. There was also a second hand armoire stuffed full of baby clothes. In the sitting room, one corner held the two baby buggy's as well as a car seat.

It was still early but John could not take the awkward silence any longer so he made to leave. She followed his lead by putting her cup in the sink then saying, "I had fun last night. If you would like to do this again…"

Again? He was on borrowed time as it was and he honestly had no interest in seeing her again. He didn't want to crush her either so instead he made excuses. "I'm not sure if that will be possible. Well…" he explained as he gestured to the rest of his flat.

Her eyes followed his movements and she looked at the state of his flat with all of the baby supplies. "Oh, right. I understand."

John just nodded and started walking to his door. He opened it and waited for her to gather her things. She held her coat and shoes in her hand as she walked through the door. John locked the door behind them and wordlessly departed for the tube station once they were outside the building.

11:00 A.M.

After circling the local park with his cane in hand, John entered the doctor's office. The receptionist waved him in. After months of meeting with the doctor, John and the receptionist had gotten to know each other well enough. He was a native of Scotland, two grown children, and was in between jobs.

John sat down and the doctor asked him, "How was your week?"

"Same as all the other weeks."

"It's almost that time isn't it?"

"December 4th." At the last doctor's appointment with Irene, the doctor had asked them when they wanted to schedule the cesarean. John had got to pick the birth date. There was not much significance to the date other than it was convenient for him and Irene. The next week would be his last week of work before going on family leave.

"Do you feel ready?"

"I don't think I would know what ready is if it stood in front of me."

The doctor smiled and said, "It's different for everyone. Some people feel they have planned and prepared so much all they're missing is the baby."

That was not familiar for John. His life was just getting monotonous. Going out to bars and chatting up women. Having the nurses at the hospital try to chat him up. It was all the same everywhere except for when he got back to his flat. The silence was consuming. Every time he went back empty handed, there was no one there waiting for him. When Sherlock was living, even when he managed to lose another girlfriend, going home to 221B never felt empty or lonesome. The place was always full of life and warmth. The only thing John was ready for was another presence in his flat.

"How are your friends and family? Are they ready?"

"I think so." Mrs Hudson had already cleared her schedule and was ready to assist John the first few days. She had asked to go to the hospital but Irene had been specific. No one besides John and anyone else she had asked would be allowed to the private hospital of her choosing.

Lestrade offered John advice every chance he got. One night, while they were thoroughly pissed, Lestrade fed him cliché life lessons to pass onto Hamish. Another time, he would tell him to relax and that it would all be easy. The next time, Lestrade had told him that parenting was the most difficult thing he had ever embarked on in his life. Of course that had been after a meeting with his separated wife.

Harry had called him a couple weeks after sending in the adoption papers. She was very excited to be an aunt. She spoke to John over the phone making up nicknames for herself, combining her name with the title of aunt. "Aunt Harriet could be my name when he's a teenager but Auntie H could work as well. Do you think he'll have a lisp as a kid? Should I make up some other names for that?" John indulged her and let her imagination run wild. A week later he received a digital camera from her in the mail with a note telling him to take several photos and to put the phone she gave him to good use.

There was no word from Mycroft but it was always a safe bet that he was just omniscient as always. Even though he had not shown his face, John knew that he must be planning something. His suspicions were first aroused when the day after shopping for baby products with Mrs Hudson, a package arrived on his doorstep. The note was in simple cursive and signed with Mycroft's signature. The note read: "I hope you find this to be of good use. It has all been sanitized I am assured." Inside the package was a hand knit pastel blue hat, a matching blanket, and a silver rattle. It all looked used but in good condition.

"And you're still attending your classes?"

"Yes," he answered. Today would be his last day in boxing classes. He was uncertain what the days would bring so he had submitted his last payment.

The parenting class was a similar matter. He was unsure how regularly he would be able to attend. The several weeks of classes leading up to this point were spent learning how to care for a toy doll and networking future play dates. That was only when it was peaceful. Sometimes parents would tell them stories of outbursts they had experienced from their adoptive children. One of the women, who had a teenage son, came in teary-eyed one evening telling them she was afraid her son would try to leave her. It had struck fear in all of them. It turned out that one of the worst things to fear when raising children was puberty.

The rest of the therapy session was spent with the doctor praising him and his progress. She congratulated him on being able to open up as much as he did and to be able to trust himself and trust her. John only responded with an awkward smile.

12:23 P.M.

John stood on the doorstep of 221 Baker Street for the first time in months. His leg was tingling, his knuckles were white against the cane, and his eyes pointed up at the windows. The curtains were drawn and he could not see inside but still it made John feel emotions he could not put his finger on.

He walked up to the big black door with its gold numbers and knocked. In times past, he would have just been able to open it with his own key but now he waited for Mrs. Hudson to answer.

Sure enough, a minute later she stood in the doorway smiling up at him before pulling him into an embrace. She ushered him into her flat and sat him down. She was so eager. It must have been some time since she had company because she offered up her entire kitchen pantry to him. After listing off a number of items, the two of them settled on tea and sandwiches.

Mrs. Hudson made small talk but the topic of interest was indeed the upcoming birth. John told her the date and apologized again for not letting her be present. She waved it off and told him it was not his fault.

Then they got to the topic John always dreaded. She asked him to move into Baker Street again. There were all these benefits and she listed them one by one but John already knew he couldn't. It was not that he couldn't move in. A conversation with Mycroft and he would most likely let him move in but John just did not feel able to intrude in the space.

After refusing, John didn't know who was more hurt he or Mrs. Hudson and John didn't know what to say to make her feel better. He was not going to be able to move in for a number of reasons but first and foremost was his mental state.

Once they had finished their lunch, John tried to casually ask if the upstairs flat was open. When Mrs Hudson had said it was, John then asked to be allowed to take a look around, making up an excuse about missing something. Of course nothing ever got past Mrs. Hudson but she did not point it out. She just let him go on ahead.

John stood at the bottom of the staircase looking up at the steps. It was what the beginning of his dreams would have looked like had he been able to remember how they started. Every time he dreamed, he was already climbing the steps.

This time, it did not recall a dream. This time he recalled the first time he ever step foot in Baker Street. The first time he trailed Sherlock up the steps to take a look at their flat before being called away for serial suicides and a note. Even the cane was present but the consulting detective was not. It was a painful thought and one he tried to push away as he began climbing the steps.

After reaching the first landing he counted the steps to the top. Ten steps and he had reached the second landing with the two doors, one to the sitting room and one to the kitchen. Unlike his dream, this time he felt the warmth and then want to enter the rooms. It was ridiculous. He knew there was no one on the other side but somehow his body just needed to look inside, to see that everything was okay. That the world had crashed around 221B but that the inside had remained intact as the day he and Sherlock were arrested. The day Sherlock's voice shook as he pleaded John to not believe the rumors Moriarty had put in motion. The day John had reassured him that he had not.

John grasped the door handle to the sitting room and pushed inwards revealing the place intact. It was cold but it was still there. Still whole.

He pulled his jacket tighter over himself and stepped inside. His footsteps and cane were loud in the empty flat and the room was darker than usual but it still felt inviting. Even after months of not living there, 221B managed to feel more like home than his new flat had ever had.

A quick scan of the room and John noticed there was not a speck of dust anywhere. _Dust is eloquent_. Mrs. Hudson must have kept up the cleaning even though there were no inhabitants.

His first stop was the leather couch against the wall with the wallpaper. It was hideous wallpaper and why Mrs. Hudson had ever decided to use it was beyond him, but now John could only smile. The warm tones of red wine and lightly toasted bread reminded him of the mornings he would come down for breakfast only to find Sherlock passed out on the leather couch. John would giggle to himself because Sherlock always managed to wear himself out until he was found peacefully sleeping, unable to escape the fatigue. He would wake up when John was in the kitchen steeping two mugs of tea. If he closed his eyes, John could picture the detective grumbling about his body's demand for petty necessities like sleeping.

On the wall was the yellow smiley Sherlock had sprayed on their wall that night after the Chinese circus. Having successfully stolen one of the spray cans from the scene, he tested it on their wall "just to be sure". He had been in such a happy mood after the circus. Sherlock even referred to it as the best date ever. Of course this was the same man who said being held captive in a dark tramway was the second best date ever.

The bullet holes on the wall were made out of Sherlock's boredom. John found him one day bored and using their wall for target practice. They had never gotten around to paying Mrs. Hudson for it so she never had it covered up.

Next, John went over to the two armchairs facing each other, one with a reddish pattern and a union jack pillow, the other one made of a black leather material. He remembered the time he sat in his armchair for the first time, to keep his weight off his leg, and watched Sherlock bounce up and down upon receiving news about a fourth suicide. It was one of John's happiest memories. Being allowed to follow Sherlock on the case was not what he had expected but it was what he had desperately needed.

John went over to the table in the middle of the room and found the deerstalker the boys from Scotland Yard had bought Sherlock as a gag gift. He picked it up and remembered how angry the detective had been about the hat. Sherlock had never taken jokes well. John thought the hat was hilarious. Sherlock was always turning up his coat collar to look mysterious. The hat only added to that and pointed out just how ridiculous Sherlock's mysterious look could be. It was one of the reasons why Sherlock hated the hat.

Next to the window and the bookcase, John found Sherlock's violin still in its case. John slowly opened it and pulled out the instrument. It was a beautiful violin and when Sherlock played it, John would get chills. Some nights John would be in the kitchen doing the dishes while Sherlock serenaded the night air. When he was finished playing, Sherlock would have a mark on his skin from the press of the instrument. John plucked one of the strings and the sound it made bounced around the cold air.

John opened up the curtains in the window next to all of sheet music in order to let some light into the room. As the sun streamed in, it bounced off of the crystal ashtray on the mantle and burst into little rainbows around the room. John went over to get another look at his beloved ashtray. He was surprised but glad Mycroft had not taken it back to Buckingham Palace. One mention that John had wanted to steal an ashtray and Sherlock had seen it as a challenge. Now they owned a souvenir from their trip.

Next to the ashtray were letters held onto the mantle by the stab of a knife. The letters held there started off as mail but soon became solely junk mail from one Mycroft Holmes. It gave Sherlock and John much pleasure stabbing letters of requests to work on cases for him.

At the very end was Sherlock's skull, Victor. Once when Sherlock and Mycroft's sibling fights had escalated to name calling, Mycroft made an insult about Sherlock talking to his skull. Sherlock talked to no one for a week after that one. John had never actually seen him talk to the skull but he would have never put it past him. Sherlock had, after all, named the skull.

John moved into the kitchen next. A quick look and John noticed that Mrs. Hudson had removed all of the body parts. Good thing because John remembered once when Sherlock had failed to use a severed arm. The smell had not come out of the refrigerator. John opened the refrigerator to smell and sure enough it still had the familiar smell. It was dull and fading but it still lingered a bit.

On the kitchen table sat Sherlock's microscope untouched as the last time he had used it. This time it was not surrounded by petri dishes and chemicals. Mrs. Hudson had removed them all and only left behind the microscope for which John was grateful.

John ran his hand over the scrape on the table. He had come home one day after fighting with a chip-and-pin machine to find a new scrape. Sherlock had not told him where it came from and John didn't bother to ask. The longer Sherlock stayed in 221B alone, the more the place evolved.

When he looked over to the kitchen counter, John saw the electric kettle and his heart stuttered a bit. He went over to it and picked it up. It had been a gift from Sherlock on their first Christmas living together. On Christmas morning, John had given Sherlock his wrapped present of a new pair of socks for his sock index. The look of bewilderment on the detective's face had made John laugh then and made him laugh now. It turned out that exchanging gifts was one of the social cues Sherlock had been missing. John reassured him that he did not need a gift but the detective still went out and bought him an electric kettle. According to Sherlock, John had added three minutes to his walk home from the clinic, which meant that John had altered his route so that he could walk by the same shop on his way to the clinic and back. Once Sherlock had that figured out, it was not difficult to understand that John wanted the electric kettle the store was selling. John had called him brilliant and confirmed that it was exactly what he wanted. The doctor did not know who had been happier, he or the detective.

Next, John went down the hallway to the bathroom to see if the dog hair was still there. John quickly covered his mouth as his giggles began echoing through the bathroom upon seeing the dog hair. A couple of them were out of place. They were always alphabetical but it seemed someone had switched a couple of them. John set them back in order, then left to look at Sherlock's room.

The room was even darker than the rest of the flat even though it was light outside. John turned on the lamp opposite the door. When he turned it on, something shiny caught his eye. This time it was not an ashtray; it was something else hidden in the bookcase next to the lamp. After moving a couple things around, it fell onto the ground. It was a curved sword. John bent to pick it up. It was well used. Why would Sherlock have gotten a sword? John looked at the tip of the sword and saw that it was bit dull. He thought back to the scrape on the kitchen table then quickly shook his head. No. That must have been something else. The other dents and stains on it looked newer. The scrape on the table was over a year ago. John remembered what Irene had said that first time she had spoken to him back in July. She had said that Sherlock had saved her using only a sword. John immediately dropped the sword. It had to be the same one and Sherlock had kept it as a memento? John quickly hid it back where it was. No point in tarnishing Sherlock's reputation even further by adding killing executioners with a sword to the list.

Once the sword was hidden away again, John turned and looked at the rest of the room. He almost never entered this room. The only times he did was when Sherlock would call him because he needed something that was out of arms reach or if he needed to carry Sherlock to bed after being drugged by a certain dominatrix. John had not been in the room since the time Irene had broken into their flat and fallen asleep in Sherlock's bed. Now the room was relatively neat except for one wall. The wall farthest from the door was covered in thumbtacks and papers. John moved closer to look at Sherlock's elegant scrawl. There were times when John had received criticism from the detective about his handwriting. _You don't actually have to have horrible penmanship to be a doctor, John_. John recognized one of the pieces of paper. It was from Sherlock's personal notebook upon which he had written the single word "bluebell" in all capital letters. Underneath that was a paper that said "The Hounds Of Baskerville". John's eyebrows shot up and he began scanning the rest of the papers. "A Study In Pink." "The Great Game." "A Scandal In Belgravia." "The Blind Banker." It was all of the cases and the titles John had given them. The titles which Sherlock had complained about. The titles which were now memorialized and thumbtacked to his wall. Something tugged at John's heart as he touched the papers.

Somehow, in some way, John and Sherlock had left their mark in this world. John only hoped that in his next life, Sherlock was treating others well without him.


	17. Ch 17 Friday 30 November Year 1

A/N: ANGST. Let me say that again: Angst. Enjoy!

Friday 30 November

12:00 A.M.

John stared as his mobile phone changed from the numbers 11:59 to 12:00. A brand new day and he was in the exact same place he was the day before, trying to keep his eyes open. The vending machine coffee was not helping at all. It tasted horrible and lacked the right amount of caffeine.

He put the mobile back in his pocket and continued to watch the doctors and nurses pass by him. Every time he saw a new doctor appear, he tried catching their eye, hoping it was for him, but they would just keep walking and not acknowledge him.

It had been 8:07 P.M. the day before when John had received the phone call from Irene to get his "ex-army doctor arse to the hospital, now!" A couple minutes later, John was texted the hospital's address (a hospital outside of London) then he grabbed his hospital bag and went out the door to hail a cab.

That had been almost 6 hours ago. John and Irene had planned the birth for four days from this date but it seemed the baby had his own plans. Now John was just playing the waiting game.

"Doctor Watson," came a voice from the elevators. John began standing up but then noticed it was just Mycroft. He sat back down. Even at this early hour, Mycroft and his assistant were impeccably dressed and showed no sign of fatigue. John, on the other hand, looked and felt awful. It wasn't all from lack of sleep. After weeks of staying out late, John had learned to function on very little sleep. Now the nerves had dismantled all of that.

Mycroft offered John a disposable cup of gourmet coffee, which John accepted. He sipped it while the three of them sat in silence. "Anthea" was on her phone and cradling a folder of papers on her lap. Mycroft occupied his hands by twiddling with his umbrella and extending his legs out in front of him. John sipped his coffee and bounced his leg up and down repeatedly.

1:37 A.M.

John woke up from his nap to Mycroft's elbow digging in his side and a doctor staring at him. Immediately, John got to his feet and followed the doctor.

He was led into a room to wash up and put scrubs on. It was only then that he realized his cane was still in the waiting room. His leg didn't hurt so he went on ahead without it.

John had not seen Irene since their last doctor's appointment. She had looked well but incredibly pregnant. All of the usual signs of pregnancy were there. The swollen ankles, the heartburn, and the frequent visits to the bathroom.

Now, inside the patient's room, Irene lay looking completely haggard. Her eyes pointed to the ceiling and she was breathing slowly and deliberately. Her hair, which was usually either curled or in a bun, was now straight and fanned around her head. The color stood in stark contrast to the paleness her skin had taken on. Most of her body was covered up but Irene never minded her nudity. She met John for the first time completely naked and straddling his best friend. Still, John kept his gaze up above the horizon and went to stand next to her.

The doctor explained to John that Irene had chosen to forgo medication and was now fully dilated. Upon hearing that, he looked back at the woman lying on the bed trying to disconnect her mind from the pain she was obviously experiencing.

John did a quick scan of the machines to check Irene's and the baby's heart rate. It all looked well and as the doctors and nurses began arranging themselves, John took his post by Irene's side.

The doctor spoke to her but Irene was not listening. Little noises were coming from her mouth but John had no idea what they meant.

He grabbed her hand and was surprised by the amount of strength behind her grasp. The doctor instructed Irene to begin pushing and so she did.

1:52 A.M.

They were five minutes in when John switched hands. His fingers on his left hand were changing colors from the amount of pressure Irene was giving it. Irene continued to simultaneously push, squeeze John's hand, and mumble even more.

1:57 A.M.

Ten minutes in and Irene was practically screaming and John had switched hands twice since then. He was unsure where to look so he just watched the doctor for any sign that progress was being made. The doctor was not as vocal as he would have liked. Of course that was most likely from the lack of response he was getting from Irene.

Soon after, the doctor's hands were handling something and the nurses were busy waiting with their instruments in hand. John watched them look down at the doctor's hands. He was unsure what he wanted. Did he want to look or would he just wait? When he had decided, John took a step towards them to take a look but his decision had been a couple seconds too late. The doctor dropped a baby on top of Irene just as she went limp and John was startled into taking a couple of steps back.

The baby lying on top of Irene immediately began screaming. He was covered in fluid and his skin was pale but his head was full of dark hair plastered to the crown of his head. One of the nurses removed the liquid from the baby's mouth and afterwards he only let out a whimper. They were not too worried since it was obvious he was breathing on his own.

John was caught staring at the child, unable to bat his eyes away. The baby's tiny fists waved about uncontrollably to which John could only smile. The cries had died considerably when the doctor handed John a pair of scissors.

"Come on now, dad."

John shook his head and refused, "No, I shouldn't do it. My hands…"

"Nonsense," said the doctor. "I'll tell you exactly what to do."

John stared at his hands hoping they would not shake and hurt the baby. The doctor gave him instructions but John knew exactly what to do. He stared at the baby still moving about uncontrollably before tearing his eyes away and getting to the task at hand. A simple snip and the baby's life was torn away from Irene's.

As the nurses carried the baby to another tabletop, the doctor announced, "Congratulations. It's a boy!" He looked at John with a smile and only then did John realize just how widely he was smiling. "Now all that's left to decide is if he was born at 1:59 or 2," continued the doctor.

"1:59," said John. "He was early after all."

John continued to watch the nurses wipe down the baby with several towels. One nurse put droplets in his eyes. He had been expecting the baby to cry but he simply batted the liquid from his lashes and stared up at the lights in the ceiling. John let out a choked laugh.

Next, he looked over to Irene's weathered form. She was looking much better now that she was no longer writhing in pain. John grabbed her head in his hands and kissed her forehead.

Irene gave him a weak smile and said, "It's been so long since a man kissed me like that."

John laughed a nervous laugh. Normally he would not have laughed at that but something in him was so nervous, anything was making him laugh.

Before the baby was dressed and given to him, John noticed that the doctors and nurses were removing Irene from the room. He made to follow but they told him to wait for further instruction. It seemed it was part of Irene's birth plan to not be in the same room as the baby for too long.

John awkwardly waited as the nurses conducted all of the necessary measurements on the baby. He tried catching a glimpse of what was happening but was unable to see anything. One of the nurses caught him shifting from foot to foot so she brought him an armchair to sit in.

As soon as he was settled, one nurse turned around holding the swaddled baby in her arms. The baby's hands were up by his face, one fist in his mouth. His legs were curled into his body and completely covered by the blanket. On his head, the nurses had placed a blue knitted cap. During the process of being measured, the baby had begun to fuss once again.

The nurse holding the baby thrust him in John's direction. John was stunned out of his staring and tentatively extended his arms to hold him. As the nurse came up to hand him over, John switched between extending and taking back his arms.

"You don't need to be scared," smiled the nurse through the baby's soft cries. "He just wants to be held closely."

John breathed deep and mustered up the courage to reach for the baby. He had held babies before certainly. Almost everyday at the clinic, a parent came through his office door holding children of all ages. Now he was here second-guessing himself, unable to remember which side he wanted to support the head on.

He decided to have the baby's head on his right arm, away from the injured shoulder. John stiffly grabbed the baby and settled him into his arms.

The baby was still sucking on his fist and making soft complaints. John was unsure of what to do about that. He looked around and saw that the nurses had left him alone. All alone with a newborn in his arms, John Watson met fear again in his life.

It was the most domestic fear he had ever experienced in his life. Other times he was running in fear, fighting in fear, surviving in fear. This time, the fear was of the unknown. He did not know what to do.

It was a bit like stage fright. Weeks of practice and being told that when the time came, he would know what to do. Weeks of confidently passing his lessons, his plastic doll from class had never once complained. Weeks of preparation and suddenly it was opening night, and John Watson felt the need for an under study.

His arms remained as stilted as when he had first received the baby in his arms and now he was getting complaints. The baby shifted uncomfortably in his arms and fidgeted more.

John did a quick scan of his vitals in case that was the problem. The baby's heart rate was rapidly increasing. Weight seemed to be about normal. Large in length. Mobility: leg kicking and head turning from side to side. John deemed the baby to be in good health but by the increase in heart rate and movement, he knew something bad was going to happen.

Sure enough, a couple seconds later, the baby was screaming and crying. John looked around hoping someone would walk through the door and save him. He waited but no one came in.

He looked back at the baby, now turning red from the crying, and was met with the same fear. Fear of not knowing what to do.

"Uhhh…" he puzzled as the baby continued to toss in his arms.

Should I say something? You can't exactly scold a baby for crying and talking would be useless. He can't talk. He thought back to his classes but was unable to remember what to do. The fatigue of the early morning was catching up to him.

John looked down at the crying baby and choked, "I don't know what you want." It only made the cries get louder, or so it would seem.

Food? Maybe he wants food. John took his finger and put it up to the baby's mouth but nothing changed. Not food then.

He took deep breaths as he tried to think of something else to do and tried not to hope that a nurse would come in and help him.

John groaned and bent his head so that his forehead was on the baby's forehead but without pressure. "I don't know what I'm doing," he whispered. "You don't know what you're doing outside of the womb and I don't know what I'm doing keeping you as my own." The baby's cries began to die down with every word he spoke. John breathed a sigh of relief, "You like being spoken to?" and of course he got no answer so he laughed to himself.

He pulled back to fully look at the baby with a smile on his face. To John's surprise, the baby just looked up at him completely calm, little tears beginning to dry in the corners. The baby continued to look at him fully in the eye and something in John's heart clenched to be looked at so fully. Only a few minutes in the world and already he was observing like his birth father.

Just thinking about Sherlock and the miracle he left behind brought tears to John's eyes. They would never know each other. They would never know just how similar and dissimilar they were to each other. It hurt John to think that father and son would never have those opportunities but maybe that's why he was here. John would be the middleman. The one who relayed the message to both of them. He would tell the stories of the consulting detective to the baby and in the afterlife, John would tell Sherlock about his son and the person he grew up to be.

John settled the baby in his arms and cuddled him close. The baby in turn also stretched in his arms and settled comfortably. John continued to smile at how well they were now responding to each other.

He looked at the baby's feet wrapped in blankets and thought back to the time he felt him kick in Irene's stomach. He laid a hand on one foot and was awarded with a sigh.

John cuddled the bundle of blankets and limbs closer to him and rocked the baby to sleep.

3:37 A.M.

After twenty minutes of looking down at the sleeping form, a nurse had taken the baby away for the night. John indulged in several more cups of coffee by the vending machine before finding a nurse's station.

It was just after 3:30 in the morning and the hospital was absolutely silent. He walked through the hospital hallways alone and was not met by another person. John had never been to this hospital but it seemed to be relatively small and reserved only for private patients.

The nurse's station was deserted so he sat and read over Irene's chart in one of their desk chairs. Upon reading, John began giggling. _Shannon Blackburn_ read the chart. Another one of Irene's aliases and mother to John's adopted son. He skimmed through Irene's vitals until something caught his eye. _Allergies: Strawberries_. One of the more uncommon allergies but not unheard of.

Once he was done reading Irene's page, John turned to the next page and read Sherlock's medical information. It was signed Mycroft Holmes. This explained part of the reason Mycroft was there, he thought. John read every word of Sherlock's medical history. The first thing that stood out to John was his parent's names. _Mother: Violet Holmes. Father: Sigur Holmes_. John had never met the Holmes parents but they were randomly mentioned in passing. Mycroft spoke of his parents in an endearing way and Sherlock had sneered any time they were mentioned.

John continued reading. _Date of Birth: 6 January. Weight: 3.1 pounds_. He reread it a couple of times before finally understanding he had not read it wrong. 3.1 pounds was dangerously underweight for a newborn. It was a miracle he had survived.

Further down the chart John read the note about Sherlock's past drug addiction. _Do not give patient addictive medication due to past drug use._ The note was written in a present tense as though Sherlock's doctor would need the information in the near future. There was no mention on the chart about Sherlock's death so he flipped to the next page.

_Name: (Unknown)_

_Sex: M_

_Date of Birth: 30 November_

_Time of Birth: 1:59_

_Weight: 7.3 pounds_

_Length: 55.78cm_

_Eyes: Blue_

_Hair: Brown_

It was all normal and healthy. There wasn't much else besides basic information. Later they would need John to fill in the missing information.

For now, John picked up the phone and called the front desk. When they answered he asked for a cab to be called.

After waiting for some time, John climbed into the cab and instructed the driver to take him to London's cemetery. Outside it was pitch black and the driver made no move to talk to John so he found it easy to lull to sleep.

5:48 A.M.

The sun was just beginning to rise and illuminate the graveyard. John instructed the driver to wait for him and then began his trek across the wet grass until he found the headstone underneath the tree. The same familiar letters looked back at him glistening with morning dew.

On the drive to London, John had slept soundlessly. No dreams or thoughts. The exhaustion had crashed over him.

Before that, while he was waiting for the cab, words kept going through his head of all the things he wanted to tell Sherlock. All of the things John wished he could have told him in that moment.

Now John chuckled to himself and thought that if Sherlock was actually here, there would be no need for words. Sherlock would have just deduced it all from him in a glance. The silent conversations between flat mates.

It was painful to stand in front of the headstone and wanting to say everything. Sherlock would have called it patronizing but John still went on ahead and stated the obvious.

"Your son was born today. 7.3 pounds. 55.78 centimeters. Mother and child are doing fine…If you look hard enough, he does kind of look like you…To be perfectly honest, he looks more like a large prune with limbs. Most children look like that when they're born…He does have your stare though. The first time he looked at me in the eye…Well it was like that first day at Bart's when you asked 'Afghanistan or Iraq?'…Just minutes after being born and already he has your mannerisms. Hopefully he did not inherit all of them. I don't know if I could handle an actual two year old with your manners…umm…well I should probably leave. They're going to need me to sign papers and such…"

With one last touch of the headstone, John turned and walked away.

7:26 A.M.

John sipped his fresh cup of coffee and headed down the hall to Irene's room. Mycroft and "Anthea" stood outside the door holding John's hospital bag.

Inside, Irene was stretching from her nap and wrapping her hair in a bun. She still looked tired but compared to the way she looked hours before, it was a big difference.

Mycroft handed John his paperwork to fill out. As he did so, Irene asked Mycroft, "Does this bring back memories of Sherlock's birth?"

Mycroft's mouth quirked and said, "No actually. I didn't get to see him so soon." It went unmentioned that Mycroft had already seen the baby. "Sherlock was in intensive care for the first month of his life. I saw him a week after he was born." Mycroft's look was distant as he remembered the first time he saw his brother. When he collected himself he said, "We weren't sure if he was going to make it. He was born early and dangerously underweight."

The next few minutes were spent waiting for John to finish filling out his form. When he was done he handed the form to Mycroft.

Mycroft took it and read it over. His eyebrows shot up as he said, "Hamish Sherlock Watson." John nodded. Mycroft filed away the paper before turning to Irene and saying, "Ms. Shannon Blackburn, how do you want to die?"

Irene thought about it then said, "Would it be cliché to die from childbirth?"

"Not at all. For you it would be a new one. You have been beheaded before."

"True. Childbirth it is then."

Mycroft handed her the form and Irene quickly signed her name as a witness to Ms. Shannon Blackburn's death.

"And here," continued Mycroft. "Is where you sign relinquishing all custody to John. You cannot contact either of them unless he explicitly states so."

Irene hesitated a second but then signed her name.

When it was all done, Mycroft turned to John and said, "Congratulations. Hamish Sherlock Watson is all yours." All eyes were on him and John had no response.

"Perhaps now you can forgive me, John," commented Irene.

"Forgive you for what exactly?" said John.

"For whatever anger you have towards me. Don't think I didn't notice."

John did not want to discuss his crush on Sherlock in front of Irene and Mycroft so he replied, "You faked your death and hurt my best friend. I can't forgive that very easily."

Mycroft was purposefully looking out of the window and Irene's eyes flicked over to him then went back to John as she said, "I gave you a baby. Shall we call it even?"

"You must be feeling very guilty," he quipped. John stood up and walked over to Irene. He held her hands and said, "Thank you."

11:41 A.M.

John was given his own room at the hospital where he tried getting some sleep for a couple of hours. The hospital was small so they gave him a room next to Irene's. It was almost noon when a nurse brought Hamish in.

"Here you go," she said as she laid him in John's arms. "He's a bit fussy which just means he needs to be fed." She handed him a small bottle of formula and John remembered exactly how to hold the bottle.

John stared down at the newborn as he continued drinking the milk. For one so small, his sucking was quite powerful.

After he was fed, the nurse left John alone with Hamish to just "bond". Hamish ultimately just fell asleep in his arms and John watched him sleep.

12:32 P.M.

"Oh my god, John. Congratulations." Harry was squealing so loudly in John's ear he had to hold the phone away until she had calmed down enough. "I'm an aunt!" and again another squeal. "Did you take pictures?" she queried.

"Damn! No I haven't –"

"John! I explicitly used my employee discount to get you that camera. You even have a phone to take pictures."

"Give us a chance. I've had about eight cups of coffee, five hours of sleep, a birth, and a death to deal with," he said as he dug through his hospital bag.

"A death? Who died?"

"Hamish's birth mother. Died giving birth."

John heard her gasp. "So…He's an orphan now?"

He had not thought of it like that but he supposed that was the correct term. "Uh yeah. Mother and father are dead."

"How are you not more broken up about this?"

John tried to fake some sort of remorse but ultimately could not do it. He had only known Shannon Blackburn for a couple of hours before she died. "Look Harry, I'm going to hang up. I'll send you some pictures in a couple minutes."

He walked over to Hamish's sleeping form in the hospital provided cot. Hamish still had his limbs curled up together and was sleeping soundlessly. John raised his phone and quickly took a picture. He sent it off in a message not just to Harry but to Lestrade, Mrs. Hudson, Mycroft, and Molly. In the message he wrote Hamish's full name and measurements. The normal things people usually asked about newborns.

Once he had hit send, John began taking photographs with the digital camera while his phone received an endless string of messages. He spent most of the afternoon answering messages until he fell asleep.

5:14 P.M.

"Sh. Sh. Sh. Sh."

John woke up and first registered how unfamiliar the place was. His mind was slow to catch up but then he finally remembered he was at the hospital.

He sat up and saw one of the nurse's rocking Hamish in her arms and shushing him to sleep. In her arms, Hamish was making soft crying noises.

John stood up out of bed and offered to help but she said, "Actually, I was specifically instructed to take him to the newborn holding room."

"Do you have a lot of newborns?"

"Just two others." She cuddled Hamish and spoke in a cooing voice as she said, "But he's our only little boy."

In the end, the nurse put Hamish back in his plastic cot and wheeled him out of the room. As she left, John noticed that out in the hallway doctors and nurses were running about. Even more, from Irene's room, he could hear yelling.

"I said, 5 minutes," she yelled.

His mind instantly jumping to the worst-case scenario, John went next door to her room to see what the problem was.

Inside he saw Irene's back to him and hands braced on her hospital bed. John ran up to her and caught her just as her body gave away.

He put her on the bed and tried to get her to lie down but she was not having it.

"I'll be fine, John. Just let me sit for a while."

John backed away and saw her breathing deeply as she sat on the bed, with her legs on the side, ready to stand at a moments notice. It was in those moments that John saw she was no longer dressed in her hospital gown. She was dressed in a stylish jumper and a pair of black slacks. The rest of her things were packed away and waiting by the door. He looked up at her to see the state of her health. Her face was void of color and she looked to be much worse than she had been earlier in the day. When she opened her eyes, John saw that they were rimmed with tears.

Irene did not mention his scrutiny. She just made to get off the bed and move towards the door.

"Irene, no," John said as he restrained her to the bed.

"John, in another situation, I would go along with this but I am not in the mood."

John immediately let her go. "Jesus, Irene, that's not what this is about. Look at yourself. You are in no state to walk. Where are you going anyways?"

"I'm leaving the hospital."

"…to another hospital?" he prompted.

"Home actually…Well when I say home, it's a place where one of my aliases currently 'lives' - I shouldn't be telling you this," and again she tried standing. She was so weak it barely took any effort on John's part to stop her.

"You need to be in a hospital. You had a baby sixteen hours ago."

At his words, Irene flinched and closed her eyes again.

The realization crashed over John as he watched her trying to compose herself. His first thought was that something must be wrong with him to not have been a lighter sleeper. When he had awoken to the nurse in his room, it had not crossed the doctor's mind that she was there because Hamish had cried out. John had not heard his cries. A fact that he was now mentally beating himself up over.

Hamish had cried out and in the next room over, his birth mother had heard him and had resisted the urge to comfort him. Resisted the urge to go and help her baby. To see that he was unharmed. To see and make sure he was always happy. She had gone against her mother's instinct and now she sat in front of John crushed by a mother's grief.

John felt pity for her. It was the first he had ever felt it in regards for Irene. The woman was resourceful and strong, except for when it came to her baser instincts.

John wrapped his arms around her shoulders and let her head rest upon his right shoulder. Her body shook with sobs. In that moment she was vulnerable and John could not think of something to do or say to help her.

Instead, he said the first thing that came to his mind, "Did you want to…take him with you?"

"No." Her answer was instantaneous but muffled against his shoulder. "I'll be fine. He deserves you. Not me." She sat up and wiped away the tears from her eyes. "I didn't know it would be this difficult."

"You still need to be in a hospital though," John said. "Maybe we can get you another room or I can move."

"No, I can't anyway. Shannon Blackburn is dead."

"Another hospital?"

"I would need another alias," she sniffed. "I'll be fine."

Just then one of the nurses arrived at the door with a wheelchair for Irene. Instead of letting her walk there, John lifted her in his arms. His leg did not tingle, his hands did not shake, and she did not fight him. John placed her in the wheelchair and told the nurse that he would wheel her out.

Irene clutched her hospital bag in her lap as John pushed the chair the short way to the front door. Out in front of the hospital, Irene's driver and her girlfriend were waiting by the car. Irene's girlfriend took the hospital bag and the driver opened the back door. John lifted Irene again and sat her down in the seat closest to the open door.

John was ready to wordlessly close the door before Irene stopped him.

"Wait, John," her voice was still weak but no longer sobbing. She lifted her gaze and looked at him with tears in her eyes again. "Take care of him…please."

John grasped her hands and said, "I will."

"I know you will. I trust you with his life." And with that she closed the door.

John stood on the curb watching the car depart. From the back window, John could only see Irene's girlfriend's head. Irene's head was lying in her lap, soaking her skirt with tears.


	18. Ch 18 Sunday 2 December Year 1

A/N: just a quick thank you for the positive feedback and reviews from the last chapter. I do read all of the reviews and each one has made me happy/sad. I would respond to all of them if I knew how fanfiction dot net actually dealt with that. On some reviews, i get to read about what you all think is going to happen and it makes me so proud.

Also on , the views on fanfiction dot net exceeded 120 in just the first day of publishing chapter 17 so thank you all for that.

Enjoy!

Sunday, 2 December

3:00 P.M.

Sixty-one hours of being taught how to feed, clothe, and dress a baby. Sixty-one hours of sleeping and showering in a hospital. Sixty-one hours of trying to keep a 7-pound ball of flesh alive. Sixty-one hours and John was finally allowed to leave the hospital.

John's only visitors in the past sixty-one hours had been doctors, nurses, and Mycroft.

The doctor's had come to John Saturday morning with news about Hamish's health. As it turned out, Irene's strawberry allergy had been passed down to Hamish. The doctor's had drawn blood and confirmed the allergy. Hamish would not be old enough to eat strawberries for some time but when the time did come, John would need to be prepared.

The nurses were constantly milling about the hospital and it was usually with Hamish in tow. When Hamish was not in his room, he was usually lying in a plastic hospital bassinet, in a room with the two other newborns. The hospital was rather private and in his tour around, it had seemed that only a select few were allowed to be attended at this hospital, let alone give birth there. John had gone to see Hamish once and through the glass windows saw him in between two newborn girls. Nurses were inside the newborn holding room as well, doting on each newborn in turn. When Hamish was in John's room, the nurses were teaching him how to do things. John was already well aware of the procedures. Being a doctor it was protocol. Since he had nothing better to do, he indulged them. More often than not, nurses were just dropping by unannounced and without reason. They just wanted to see Hamish. They would remark how adorable Hamish was. John had been unsure how to respond at first. Eventually he began thanking them but it was empty and disconnected. He did not know what he was thanking them for. They weren't his genes put on display.

Mycroft had come to visit John the day before and it was only to drop off the car seat, the adoption papers, and the death certificate. John had been reading when Mycroft appeared at his doorway. Mycroft's gaze roamed around the room and did not stop until John told him that Hamish was not there. He nodded and said he was only there to leave the car seat, which John took from him. As quickly as he had arrived, he was gone. About twenty minutes after Mycroft's departure, John went out to have lunch at the hospital cafeteria. On his way there, John passed a doorway leading to the hallway in front of the newborn holding room. He was met with the unfamiliar sight of Mycroft standing there. He was leaning one hand on his umbrella and one hand resting on the glass. It was no mystery who he was there to see. It was only then it had occurred to John that Mycroft had not held Hamish. The sight of seeing Mycroft with a baby in his arms was too foreign so he pushed it from his mind and continued to the cafeteria for his lunch.

Hamish was lying on the hospital bed wearing the standard issue hospital dress. His head turning from side to side. Legs bending and straightening repeatedly. John just looked at him and tried to see the resemblance to his birth parents. His hair was dark certainly, but there wasn't much else that he could see. The birth certificate said he had blue eyes like his birth mother but looking at them, John realized the eyes had flecks of grey in them. The blue in his eyes dwarfed the grey of his birth father's eyes.

John began pulling the hospital dress off the newborn's body as he struggled against him. Hamish was determined to suck on his fist and he had to disconnect it in order to remove the gown. Once the gown was removed, John scanned the light brown patch of skin on the newborn's right hip. The birthmark was a centimeter wide but it was the only mark on Hamish's otherwise spotless skin.

From the hospital bag, John took out a dark blue one piece he had purchased with Mrs. Hudson. Once again the newborn struggled but eventually, John managed to get all the right limbs into the correct holes. The weather was cold so he dressed him in as many pieces as possible.

When he was done dressing and strapped into his seat, John stepped back to look at his handy work. The light shade of blue in the hat clashed with the color of the booties and the color of the blanket but it would have to do. Hamish was making light sucking sounds as he continued to suck on his fist and soak the brand new gloves on his hands.

"Are we already to go?" questioned the nurse as he walked in.

"I think that's about it," answered John, only he had a feeling the question was more directed at Hamish than himself. The nurses didn't seem to grasp that he was a baby and babies don't answer questions.

The nurse grabbed Hamish's car seat and left John to carry his belongings.

Instead of heading directly to the front door, the nurse took them through the nurse's stations and he had them all say goodbye to Hamish.

"Oh he's so adorable."

"I'm going to miss him so much."

"Let me straighten his hat."

"Such chubby little cheeks."

All of them in cooing voices.

When they were finally ready, they reached the cab to load the car seat in. John cursed himself for not having read the instructions on how to mount the seat. Between the nurse, the cab driver, and John, they managed to get the seat mounted and relatively safe.

In the empty seat behind the driver, John put his luggage, the adoption papers, the death certificate, his cane, and the pieces of clothing the hospital had given Hamish. John sat to the far right of the cab with Hamish on his left, in the center.

John gave the driver his address and off they went to London for the first time.

4:03 P.M.

The cab passed through the heart of the city and John stared out of the window watching the shops fly by the window. Every familiar street corner. Every post-case-dinner restaurant he used to visit. He even caught a glimpse of a couple alleyways he had run down chasing criminals.

Hamish's fussing and soft whining pulled him out of his reverie. John looked over and it seemed that in the span of time that he had spent looking out of the window, his left hand had slipped the bottle from Hamish's mouth. The bottle was now leaking onto the newborn's cheek and he was making the attempt to reach the nipple. John immediately repositioned it and Hamish continued to drink but with more fervor.

When they finally made it through the London traffic, the car slowed in front of John's building. It was three flights up and there were so many things to carry besides the heavy car seat.

"Hey," John addressed the driver. "Would you carry the seat with the baby if I gave you a tip in return?"

The cab driver's eyes widened. Clearly taken aback by John's willingness to trust a stranger with his newborn. The driver stammered a bit until a knock at John's window surprised them both.

Lestrade opened the door as John wrapped his coat tighter around himself. "Need a hand there," Lestrade beamed.

John returned the smile and climbed out of the car. Next, Lestrade stuck his head into the cab to unhook the car seat. John looked up at the window of his flat and saw a camera pointed at him. He groaned and walked around to retrieve his belongings.

"John, do you have another blanket for him?"

"He has one on already."

"But it's thin and his face is exposed."

"Err…right. There's this one from the hospital but it's not much thicker."

Lestrade took it and draped it over the car seat, completely covering the newborn from view.

With his cane in hand, John gathered everything and paid the driver, then followed Lestrade into the building, making sure to keep his head down since he knew he was being filmed.

"So how was the hospital?" asked Lestrade as they climbed the three flights of stairs.

"You're carrying the results."

Lestrade laughed, "So I am…He does kind of look like Sherlock doesn't he?"

John just shrugged and continued to climb. After a few steps he asked, "Who exactly is upstairs?"

"Just those of us that you told. Molly, Mrs. Hudson, your sister…"

"Yeah, I figured as much."

They did not need to reach the door when already Harry's video camera was pointing at them from the top of the third landing.

"Harry, shut that damn thing off."

"Is that any way to speak to your little sister in front of her new nephew?"

As soon as they got within arms reach, Harry began trying to lift the blanket and thrust the camera into the newborn's face. Lestrade was caught between not knowing whether to wait for Harry to get the shot or to keep walking. John thumped him in the shoulder to get him to move past Harry.

The door to his flat was open as Mrs. Hudson and Molly stood watching the three of them and a baby in the hallway.

"John," Mrs. Hudson cried as she pulled him into a hug.

"Mrs. Hudson," mumbled John into her shoulder.

Lestrade walked in and placed the car seat on the counter separating the kitchen from the sitting room as everyone, Harry and her camera included, huddled around for the reveal. Lestrade pulled back the blanket to reveal the newborn Hamish.

Immediately, Harry began zooming the camera into the newborn's face as he continued to suck on his fist and kept his eyes closed. Molly and Mrs. Hudson "awww"-ed in unison.

Once Harry had gotten all the footage she wanted, she announced, "I want to hold him." Lestrade began undoing the straps as Harry put her camera down on the counter and John grabbed the bottle of hand sanitizer.

Just as Harry began reaching for the baby, John squeezed a small amount of sanitizer on her hands.

"John, what the hell."

"It's hand sanitizer."

"Yeah, I know what it is. Couldn't this have waited?"

John looked at her seriously, "But…you are going to hold the baby."

Harry groaned, "Oh God you're going to be one of those parents aren't you?"

"What are you talking about?"

"Your medical training is showing Doctor Watson," she responded as she rubbed her hands together then showed them to John for mock acknowledgment.

During their exchange, Molly, Mrs. Hudson, and Lestrade began passing the bottle of hand sanitizer between them. Not wanting to take any chances with John.

Mrs. Hudson was by Harry's side making sure she held onto the newborn properly.

"Someone film this," Harry cried as she delicately held Hamish in her arms.

Lestrade picked up the camera but for the life of him, he could not figure it out so he handed it to Molly who had it up and running within seconds.

Harry narrated as she cradled the newborn in her arms.

"…Hamish Sherman –"

"Sherlock," corrected John.

"Right, Hamish Sherlock Watson."

Once Harry had had her turn, she passed him onto Lestrade. He had refused at first but then gave in.

Lestrade talked to Hamish as he held him. It was nothing in particular. He spoke to the baby just as the nurses in the hospital had. "Reminds me of when Maggie was this big," Lestrade said, remembering his daughter in those moments. "Molly, d'you want to hold him?"

"Oh," squeaked Molly from behind the camera. "No, no it's fine. I'll just keep recording."

"I can do it," said Harry as she took the camera from Molly.

Molly was still unconvinced but she took the newborn as Lestrade offered him. She was completely unsure of herself and squeaked whenever Hamish moved. Slowly she began to relax as John left them to go put the kettle on.

From the kitchen, John could hear Mrs. Hudson's chatter as her turn to hold Hamish came around. He didn't turn around to watch them but just continued making the tea. It had just finished brewing when Harry called for John.

He turned around to the counter and saw that Hamish was just beginning to flail around and knew he was moments from crying.

"It's fine dear," Mrs. Hudson told John as she held onto Hamish. "He just wants to sleep. I'll put him in his crib."

"Oh, I'll come with you," chimed Harry. "It will be great footage."

"Very well but we'll have to be quiet so he can sleep."

"John," said Molly. "I can serve the tea. You can go and watch them put him to sleep if you'd like."

John quirked his brow, "That's okay. I've seen him sleep plenty of times."

"Not here, though."

John just shrugged and began pouring tea.

5:43 P.M.

"I wasn't sure what to get you," said Molly. "I figured you would have all of your baby equipment accounted for."

John opened the gift-wrapped box Molly had given him as she, Mrs. Hudson, Harry, and Lestrade watched him.

Inside the box were several individual block letters. John pulled them out one by one and by the fourth one, he understood.

"The letters spell Hamish's name," confirmed Molly. "They're supposed to be decorative so that you can put them up on the wall over his crib."

John thanked her and put the letters away as Lestrade handed him his gift.

"I didn't wrap it but it does come in a box of its own," Lestrade prompted as he handed John a wine bottle.

"Merlot. Thanks, Greg…But, this is essentially grape juice," said John as he read the date on the bottle. "It isn't properly aged."

"Actually, it was bottled two days ago on Hamish's birthday. You aren't supposed to drink it now. You save it until he's old enough then share it with him."

Everyone laughed as John put the bottle as far from Harry as possible.

"My turn," announced Harry.

John pulled the paper off of the square present she had handed him. Hamish's sleeping newborn face looked back at him behind the paper.

"It's from the picture you sent me."

"Yeah," agreed John as he continued to look at the photograph in the frame. In the photograph, Hamish was dressed only in his blue knitted hat from the hospital and his white receiving blanket.

"I had it edited and printed at work, then I just stuck it in a frame. If you look in the bottom corner, it says his name, birthday, and weight."

John looked to make sure she had not misspelled it and then thanked her.

Molly, Lestrade, and Mrs. Hudson each took a turn looking at it and passing it around.

"Well my present," said Mrs. Hudson. "Is helping you this week. I will be by tomorrow to help with anything I can."

"I know, Mrs. Hudson. Thank you."

Mrs. Hudson picked up the frame, "You should display this." And with that she stood from her chair and went to the cabinet that held the television and placed the frame in the center of the shelf.

It was the only photograph in the place and it was the only object that somehow reflected the people that lived there.


	19. Ch 19 Tuesday 4 December Year 1

Tuesday, 4 December

9:00 A.M.

"Urgh!" groaned John as his alarm began blaring and Hamish began crying at 9:00 A.M. exactly.

Eyes still closed, he shut the alarm off and sat up in his bed with his feet on the floor. He listened to Hamish cry for a full minute before finally standing and walking over to the crib.

Hamish had not gotten much sleep during the night but had slept well during the day. Consequently, John was not nocturnal like Hamish so he had been unable to get much sleep the night before.

John picked up the tiny infant and rocked him in his arms trying to get him to quiet down.

After rocking him and dozing off for what seemed like seconds without any change in Hamish's cries, John looked over at the clock. Thirty minutes had gone by.

Still half dressed, John carried the newborn into the kitchen to get a formula bottle. Then he put Hamish in the car seat propped up on the coffee table and held the bottle while the newborn gulped.

9:56 A.M.

John woke to his left hand being touched and pushed. He had dozed off while feeding Hamish the formula bottle that had been emptied and rolled onto the floor.

Next he looked at the clock and yelped. It was almost ten and he was not even dressed yet.

John picked up the now relaxed newborn in his car seat and began his morning routine.

There was no time to shower and Mrs. Hudson would not be there for another thirty minutes.

Putting the seat down, John put the car seat on top of the toilet and began brushing his teeth. He splashed some water on his face to try and wake up but it only marginally helped.

Again he carried the car seat back into his room and put it on the floor as he scrambled about looking for clean clothes. The only sounds besides John's grunting were Hamish's light sucking sounds.

As he was finishing putting on his shoes, John heard the front door click open followed by a "yoohoo".

"In here, Mrs. Hudson."

Mrs. Hudson peered in the doorway of the bedroom. She looked at the newborn on the floor and said, "Oh John, why would you leave him there?" She picked up Hamish and cooed, "Did your papa forget about you?"

John finished sliding on his shoe and looked in the mirror…well there was no time to change, so he turned to Mrs. Hudson and said, "I'm minutes from missing the tube. I should be back…"

John rambled on as Mrs. Hudson pushed him out of the door into the sitting room, holding Hamish all the while. So with a goodbye, he left Mrs. Hudson and Hamish as he took off to the tube station.

11:03 A.M.

John dashed into the door of the therapist's waiting room and waved to the receptionist as he kept walking on through to the doctor's office. Inside Dr. Ella sat waiting for him.

"Sorry, so sorry –"

"It's fine, John. I was not expecting you today but I did get your message and I had a cancellation, it all worked out."

John collapsed into his chair and tried catching his breath. "I missed the first train so I had to wait on the second."

The doctor nodded, "Well I was going to ask you how parenthood is treating you but I see it looks exhausting." She smiled.

John nodded. "All I do all day is change nappies, feed, wash, change, and rock him to sleep."

"And nothing else?"

"Well when he sleeps, I try to sleep but mostly I'm just cleaning up the messes I make when he's awake."

"Okay but you don't…bond with him? Talk to him? You don't take photographs? Entertain guests who may come over?"

John shook his head. "I don't have time and the only guests I have had are my sister and a couple friends on Sunday, and neighbors from my building who heard the crying."

The doctor nodded then shrugged her shoulders. "Not yet then," she murmured. "Who has Hamish right now?"

"Mrs. Hudson, my former landlady. She offered to help me with Hamish this week."

"How is that?"

John looked at her perplexedly, "What do you mean?"

"Well, how do you feel about Hamish being with her?"

"Nothing. I feel nothing about it. She's watching him. They'll be fine."

Again the doctor just shrugged her shoulders. "Have you thought about Sherlock at all?"

John thought back to Friday. "I did go visit his grave on the day of the birth."

"And what did you do?"

He cleared his throat feeling nervous or embarrassed.

The doctor waited patiently for him to respond.

After a while, John responded, "I talked to him."

"What about?"

Again John did not want to tell her so he made it as vague as possible. "About the birth. About Hamish."

The doctor nodded. "Do you still miss Sherlock?"

John's hand shook a bit at her words. "Umm…a bit."

"Do you think of him when you see Hamish?"

"No…"

"What do you think when you see Hamish?"

John looked down and tried to think. "I don't know. I guess I think what I need to do next."

"Do you love him?"

He had not thought about it. Hamish cries, eats, sleeps, soils himself…and John just responded to it.

The doctor was still watching him. "Is that a no?"

"I don't know…Is that bad?"

"It might be too soon for the two of you. Usually a bond between father and son is done because of genetic similarities. For you and Hamish, it may take something more than that."

John thought about it but could not picture it.

"You will know it when it happens." She cleared her throat and preceded to ask, "Are you actively dating?"

"No. There is no time and who is going to want me."

"What do you mean?"

"Well now I have Hamish…"

"And so you plan on spending the rest of your life by yourself?"

John looked at her curiously. "Are you suggesting I try dating?"

"I think you shouldn't close yourself to the possibility. Right now, I believe you should focus on your relationship with Hamish. You cannot begin a new relationship without fixing the one you are currently in." She let John contemplate what she had said before asking, "How is your home life currently?"

"Umm…living at my flat is monotonous."

"You have spent a majority of your time since arriving from Afghanistan, in the presence of other people. Do you feel alone in your home?"

John gave a small chuckle. "A flat with Hamish in it is difficult to mistake as empty."

"Granted but do you feel that part of the reason you miss Sherlock is because you can't come home to some – "

"You keep using the word 'home'," John interrupted.

The doctor stopped and looked at him while the gears in her head turned. "You don't refer to your flat as home?"

John stopped and thought about it, suddenly regretting his outburst. "It is a place to sleep and to shelter Hamish and I…"

"But it is not warm…inviting…the place you can see yourself growing old and raising your child?"

John's breathing got harsh and eventually whispered his response, "No."

"What is home?"

Immediately he recalled 221B. Every memory 221B held within its walls.

John did not answer so the doctor asked, "Is it your former flat with Sherlock Holmes?"

John just silently nodded in response.

"What would happen if you were to move back there with Hamish?"

John could not even fathom the thought. He thought of all of the infant's supplies and trying to put them in 221B. The place would lose everything it once was. He shook his head.

"Do you see this as a new life you will embark on?"

It's exactly what it is. Hamish is not Sherlock and the two should not meet. They will never meet. Not in this lifetime.

The doctor took John's silence as an answer. "Maybe months from now when you walk through my office door, clutching your son and showering him with kisses, you will have found the strength to call your new flat, home."

John just softly laughed at the absurdity of the doctor's fantasy.

"Speaking of future appointments," said the doctor as a transition. "I have a feeling you will not be able to visit me for much longer."

"Does that mean I'm cured?"

The doctor smiled. "It means you now need me less than before. I was going to suggest you start writing in your blog again."

No. No. Definitely not. John shook his head and said, "No. I cannot do that."

"You could write about your life with Hamish. Make it a creative outlet for your time with him."

John dropped his head into his hands listening to what she was saying.

"It would not have to be the same blog. You could start a second one. One that is devoted entirely to your life from this point on."

The emotions were too much. A second blog? It would mean to close the book on one part of his life and try to begin another. John did not want to think of it that way. He never wanted his life with Sherlock to end. It was all gone too soon. He had spent months after Sherlock's death free-falling and not knowing when he would ever be able to firmly continue with his life.

Now with Hamish in his life, everything should be in front. An entire future lay out in front of him just waiting to be experienced. The problem was that John was resisting it the entire way there. He had to remind himself that there was nothing left for him in the past. Nothing left but the memories.

"John, just think about it. If you do decide to make a blog, email me so that I can read it." She looked at the clock. "As for our time together, you are free to go. You don't need to come see me unless it is of your own will."

At that, John stood to shake her hand and bid her farewell.

"John," called the doctor as John had been on his way out the door. "I didn't want to point this out earlier, in case I ruined it but, your baby is already having a positive effect on you." She smiled and looked at him with his hand on the door supporting his weight on two feet.

John looked down at himself and realized his own personal miracle of a painless stance. He looked up and smiled at her one last time before walking through the doorway to live out the rest of his future.


	20. Ch 20 Saturday 15 December Year 1

A/N: A long-ish author's note, sorry.

Just wanted to introduce my beta reader, Midnight Angel414. She has been beta reading since about the fourth chapter, which means I accept full responsibility for the first chapters. I have gone back and tried to fix all of the mistakes. There is no change in the plot but only the addition of legibility.

Also, thank you for all the reviews. You have all been so nice so far. I hope you enjoy this chapter. There is a plot twist and my beta reader has been itching to get her hands on the next chapter ever since she read it.

Thank you and enjoy!

Saturday, 15 December

12:00 A.M.

John grunted in time with the rocking of the infant in his arms. The carpet beneath his feet would get worn out soon from all of the pacing just as his eardrums would have a lifetime of ringing to them from all of the crying.

John tried putting the soother in the newborn's mouth but it was difficult to accomplish since Hamish's mouth was stuck in an unhinged position while his chest cavity and throat performed the incessant wailing noise.

Mrs. Hudson had left to visit her sister before the holidays so he could not call upon her help. That and it was just past midnight. She might reprimand him for waking her.

John was tempted to call her either way, even if he did get lectured. Just to hear another person's voice would have been excuse enough. He had been trapped in the flat for days. Mrs. Hudson made the occasional call but it was not enough. The winter weather had taken hold of London and exposing a newborn to the elements was risky at best.

John could clearly remember the last time he had human contact. It was a late night run to Tesco for formula. Ben was the name of the cashier, or at least that is what the nametag had read. They made idle conversation about the weather while Ben tried not to remark on John's hoarding of baby formula.

As for the last time he had had a good night sleep that was harder to recall. The days and nights were blending together. The only reason he kept watch on the clock was because he was trying to learn to cycle Hamish's sleeping and eating patterns.

Tonight though, Hamish was no longer cooperating. As per the schedule, the infant should have been halfway through his midnight formula bottle and nodding off to sleep again before the bottle was done. Instead John had Hamish swaddled in a blanket and positioned in a bright red sling. The sling was hanging off of John's right shoulder, it crossed his body and situated low on his stomach. The effect was supposed to simulate womb-like conditions for a newborn and relax them. So far the result was not panning out.

Once John reached the end of one side of the pacing, he turned and tried bending his knees with every step in order to both keep his energy level up and to create a different rocking motion. Energy was something of a rarity lately. With all of the crying, he could only sleep in small intervals. John was finding himself rather missing the days when he was bored. He thought it's what he wanted but the rare moments when things would actually be calm, he regretted thinking that. This was definitely a…change. Not an improvement but a change to boredom.

_Thud. Thud. Thud._

Great. That's exactly what this needed, neighbor support. The neighbors were now pounding on his kitchen wall, no doubt awoken by the sound of Hamish's displeasure.

When the thudding began again, John called out, "It's a newborn. What would you have me do?" Running on very little sleep, he was feeling very short tempered.

The only response from the neighbors was more thudding. John's groans mixed with the newborn's wailing.

20 paces from the wall to the window. John had it mapped perfectly as he continued to follow his own footsteps once again.

Spotting the rattle on the cluttered countertop, John picked it up and shook it in front of the newborn. The rattle usually calmed Hamish down but not this time. This time Mycroft's gift was not enough to soothe him.

"Just go to sleep," John groaned. He knew he was losing his mind. Talking to an infant? Well, that was clearly a sign that he needed to get out more.

Just one look around the flat and that fact was clear. The sink was full of dishes and bottles. The bin needed to be emptied. The cloth bag holding the dirty laundry needed to be taken care of before they both ran out of things to wear.

_Thud. Thud. Thud._

John let out an angry yell in the direction of the offending wall before looking down at the screaming newborn, "You're going to get us both kicked out." Again with the talking, he inwardly grumbled.

Alright, think. He has a fresh nappy on so it can't be that. He barely touched the formula bottle so he isn't hungry. It isn't cold or hot either way so it can't be that. You're a doctor. What would you do?

So John lifted the newborn from the sling and put him down on the couch to inspect. Hamish continued to cry through the move and through being placed on the couch. John checked for everything and anything even though his mind was not working as quickly as it would have been after a good night's sleep. He continued the inspection trying to find something to explain it. The infant was obviously breathing. There was no problem there.

John pulled away the blanket to try and find some sort of physical damage and stopped when he saw the newborn's stomach through the one piece. It was larger and more inflated than usual. Newborn's usually had round stomachs but not like this. John felt the newborn's abdomen but only got more screams.

His mind worked as fast it could trying to understand what it could mean. Tenderness in the abdomen? It must be some sort of intestinal issue. Only a hospital would be able to handle this at this late of an hour.

John quickly picked up the newborn. He dashed into his room and placed the newborn on the bed. John dressed as quickly as he could with as many layers as he could all while calling for a cab. Next, he grabbed a couple blankets to swaddle Hamish again before putting him back in the sling. Hamish's crying was now muffled by the blankets around him.

Once he had the newborn secured around him, John grabbed his keys and left out the door to wait for the cab. As he was locking his door, the neighbor who had been pounding on his wall was now glaring at him from his own doorway. John paid no attention to him and kept going in the direction of the stairs.

John waited in the snowy landing for five minutes before the cab driver finally arrived.

Inside the car, John continued to try and rock the newborn but knew it was pointless. His stomach was not going to let him go to sleep.

Through the rocking and the shushing, John caught a glimpse of himself in the rearview mirror. His eyes were bloodshot and his face discolored. A couple hours of sleep would definitely be beneficial but instead he was here taking a newborn to the hospital because he had let something happen to him under his watch. It felt like his own personal failure to have let the newborn be harmed.

They drove through the city before finally arriving at Bart's. John threw the required amount of pounds at the driver and climbed out of the cab. He let his feet carry him in the direction of the emergency room just like all of the other Fridays he had spent there.

John sighed in relief when he spotted the nurses at the receptionist desk.

"John," said one of the nurses. "What's happened?"

"He hasn't stopped crying for almost two hours and I'm suspecting there is some sort of intestinal issue."

The two nurses at the desk gasped and looked frightened.

"Right," said one of the nurses. "Come on back and we'll see who we can find to help."

John immediately followed the nurse through the door. He heard a couple of shouts of protest from the other patients in the emergency room but John did not care. If bypassing a couple of other patients meant he could get a good night sleep then so be it.

Inside the busy emergency room, doctors, nurses, and paramedics all ran around from curtained wall to curtained wall. The lack of sleep was making John daunted from just watching them.

"John?" One of the doctors spotted him.

The nurse from the receptionist desk quickly briefed him, "We have a newborn experiencing possible intestinal issues."

The nurse had barely finished before the doctor was taking the newborn from John. "I'll take him from here." He addressed the nurse, "Have Doctor Watson file a medical history."

John uncertainly gave the screaming newborn over to the doctor and once he had, they were gone. He followed the nurse over to his own portion of the emergency room, behind a curtain, and was handed a stack of forms to fill out before being left alone with his thoughts.

John drifted in and out of sleep while filling out the forms but when he was awake, he could not concentrate on the forms. He just kept wondering what was going to happen to Hamish and trying to remember the procedures for intestinal issues. He concluded that it could range anywhere between antibiotics to surgery. Could a two-week-old infant survive that type of surgery? The odds weren't on his side. What would Mrs. Hudson think of him? What would Harry think? What would –

At that moment the curtain was pulled back in a swift abrasive manner. There stood Mycroft with his eyes blown wide open looking down at John. To John's surprise he was not as composed as other times. His grey suit was missing the vest and the knot on his tie was misshapen and haphazardly done. Even his umbrella was missing. Come to think of it, John's own cane was missing. He had left the flat too quickly to remember to bring the cane.

The staring contest between John and Mycroft was only broken by the appearance of "Anthea". She continued to stare at her phone as she spoke, "Sir, the nurses I interrogated say the newborn was brought in with intestinal issues."

Mycroft looked at her and just nodded his head. He spotted a stool and walked over to it to sit on. His steps were carefully calculated and shaky.

"No coffee this time?" joked John.

"Anthea" continued to type and Mycroft just stared at him bewilderedly, trying to reason what that meant.

2:41 A.M.

John awoke from his dozing off. The paramedics had just brought in a person who was screaming at the top of their lungs. John resisted the urge to jump in and help.

He looked around and saw Mycroft and "Anthea" still there. Mycroft was just staring at the space in front of him, completely dazed.

John looked back at the forms and saw that they weren't even halfway through being filled out. He was about to start filling them in again when the curtain was pulled back again.

This time it was the doctor holding a sleeping Hamish in his arms.

John's mind was slow to register the scene in front of him. Sleep deprivation made him react slowly to the appearance of a sleeping Hamish.

Mycroft, on the other hand, stood up immediately as though jolted from his seat. He saw the sleeping form and after seeing the rise and fall of his chest, he visibly relaxed.

"Doctor Watson, we ran tests and everything is fine. It was just a bit of colic."

Colic. Colic. That's the one where…

"We had one of the nurses from pediatrics burp him and he was just fine after that. Fell asleep almost instantly."

John groaned and dropped his head on the empty patient's bed. Colic. That's all it was. Well this is embarrassing. John's cheeks were burning and he mentally beat himself up. It was only colic. He had seen parents just like him worry about simple things like colic but had never understood their distress.

"We did every test we could think of, just to be safe, but there was nothing. He's is in good health."

John sighed and stood up to take the newborn. He took care not to wake him and put him back in the sling. "I…don't know how to thank you. This is pretty embarrassing."

The doctor laughed and said, "It's fine. We get colic cases all the time…You on the other hand..." The doctor pulled out the ophthalmoscope from his white coat pocket. He turned it on and shined the light in John's eyes. "You look like you haven't slept in days. Should I prescribe you a babysitter?" The doctor chuckled.

John half heartedly chuckled but was more embarrassed by the fact that one of his colleagues knew more about the state of his health than he did.

The doctor turned to Mycroft and "Anthea", "Perhaps one of your friends could babysit for a few hours."

John stifled his laughter at the doctor's suggestion and the look on "Anthea"'s face. His laughter was fleeting when Mycroft spoke, "Yes, I think that could work." John immediately turned to look at Mycroft, clearly taken aback by the offer.

The doctor smiled and looked at all of them. "Well good. Be sure to get some sleep and some food in your system Doctor Watson. It was nice to meet you all." And with that he left through the curtain.

He must have been sleepier than he thought because never would John have thought Mycroft would actually offer to babysit. John turned to look at him and asked, "What are you playing at?"

Mycroft cocked his head, "I'm not sure what you mean."

"You? A sitter?"

"It's a perfectly logical situation. You need someone to watch Hamish for a few hours. You don't have anyone lined up for the job. I haven't interviewed anyone for the position."

The more Mycroft spoke, the more sense it was making to John.

"I can take Hamish back to my flat and watch him while you get some sleep at your flat and in a few days when my mother has her annual Christmas party, you can do her the honor of attending. Raising a newborn must be difficult on you having to do it alone. I can only offer my services this time as long as you agree to indulge my mother in some shopping. She's looking forward to meeting you…"

John just nodded but felt himself zoning out as Mycroft continued to drawl on and on. The lack of sleep and the embarrassment of the situation made his mind work even slower and he just wanted Mycroft to shut up already. When he had had enough, John held up his hand, "Mycroft, right. Fine, you can take him."

Mycroft gave him a sly grin, "Excellent."

John began walking out of the emergency room with Hamish sleeping in his sling and Mycroft and "Anthea" trailing him. Outside, they all got into Mycroft's car.

The driver drove them through the city to John's flat. In the car, the darkness and the droning of the engine lulled John to sleep. He slept with Hamish curled up to his chest in the sling. The warm weight of a fluttering heartbeat against his comforted John in the few minutes he had to sleep.

When they arrived, John woke himself up again and got out of the car. "Anthea" and Mycroft followed him up the stairs and into his flat.

John idly cradled the sleeping infant using his right hand while he moved about the flat packing all of the necessary things with his left. He had yawned so many times but he managed to get everything packed into the nappy bag Lestrade had gifted him.

"Right so here you go," John said as he handed the bag to Mycroft who then passed it on to "Anthea". Her only response was to roll her eyes. "I've packed six formula bottles. He shouldn't need more than three but I added extra just to be sure. There is a brand new pack of nappies as well. Again, you shouldn't need more than four or five at the most but one never knows. There are three sets of clothing. You can choose whichever set you want him to wear. It doesn't really matter. There's three blankets and two sweaters. Just depends on what the weather will be like. There are three soothers. It usually calms him down. Of course when he's screaming and crying, he doesn't latch on to it very well. There's the rattle you gave him. He can't hold it or see it yet so you just shake it in front of him and the sound usually relaxes him."

Mycroft nodded and listened to the doctor list off the procedures that had now become second nature to him. When John was finished instructing him, Mycroft asked, "Is that all?"

He expected to be handed the newborn but instead, John's eyes widened and he said, "Oh right." John went over next to the entertainment system and single handedly grabbed the car seat and buggy. "If you get tired of holding him, just put him in the buggy and rock him. Also, you won't need to bathe him will you? I only ask in case I need to get those supplies and because his umbilical stump is still attached." John looked at them both firmly before diving into the procedure of how to give Hamish a sponge bath. "Just add a few centimeters of water into the basin. Make sure he's strapped in. He will put up a fight – "

"John," Mycroft stopped him. "That won't be necessary. It's only a few hours and I'm sure he will be fine without a bath in that time."

John was ready to press the issue more but instead decided he would rather not have to trust Mycroft to bathe the newborn. "Right then I think that's it. Give me a call when you've had enough of him and we can arrange to meet somewhere," he said as he began moving them towards the door, "Anthea" carrying the overstuffed diaper bag and pushing the buggy with the car seat on it. With so many things, she was no longer on her phone. She was trying to balance all three items as she walked alongside her boss.

John no longer had the strength to chuckle so he just yawned, "Good night or actually good morning – "

"John!" interrupted Mycroft. John was already closing the door in their faces. "Aren't you forgetting something?"

John looked around the flat behind him but could not recall. "Did you change your mind about the bath?"

"The child, John."

"Oh," croaked John. He looked down at the comfortable weight in his right arm. He forgot Hamish was still sleeping in the sling. After hours of pacing the floor with the infant in his arms, John no longer knew what it was like to not hold him.

John lifted Hamish out of the sling and offered him to Mycroft. Mycroft's arms shook as he reached for the newborn. It was the first time he was holding Hamish and it was clear he did not know what he was doing.

"Anthea" whispered instructions to him as he reached for the newborn. Mycroft just gave "Anthea" a look to silence her but he still utilized what she had told him. When he had the infant properly cradled, John gave him the blankets and the sling. Mycroft made sure to wrap Hamish properly in as many blankets as he could. The gleam in his eyes as he looked at the newborn, it was something John took note of but did not have the energy to decipher what it meant.

Instead, John bid them good night and watched the three of them leave down the stairs. "Anthea" went ahead and tried not to drop anything. Mycroft followed her. He cuddled Hamish using his right arm and his chest. With his left hand he held onto the handrail to make sure he did not fall. John noticed that the man was torn between keeping a vigilant eye on the steps and his curiosity for watching the newborn sleep. When the three of them were out of sight, John closed the door.

All he wanted to do now was sleep so he made fast work of his coat and shoes and got into bed. As he began drifting off, he tried listening for the sound of Hamish's breathing but he reminded himself that there was no one else there. With that thought he went to sleep without Hamish for the first time since the day they left the hospital.

2:11 P.M.

John cursed himself for not having closed the curtains properly. The winter sun streamed through the windows causing him to curl into his blankets even more.

A few times throughout the morning, the sun would wake him up and he would look at the time on the clock. Each time it happened, he had to remind himself that Hamish was with Mycroft and with that thought, he would slumber again.

After nearly ten hours of sleep, John's stomach was grumbling and having no newborn to take care of, a diner sounded great. He slowly rolled out of bed and stretched all of his muscles. The winter weather was affecting his bullet wound and making it ache.

John spotted his mobile on the nightstand so he picked it up to check his messages. There were no messages. No messages from Mycroft and no messages from Mrs. Hudson. He tried not to read too much into it and instead went to take a shower.

3:08 P.M.

John ordered a cup of tea and breakfast at the diner in central London. He periodically checked his phone, waiting for the phone call from Mycroft but it never came.

He paused his eating and decided to call.

"Mycroft, it's John."

"_Yes, hello Doctor Watson."_

"How is Hamish treating you?"

"_He's just fine. He's currently in his buggy enjoying the taste of his fist."_

John chuckled. "Yeah he does that a lot. Well I just wanted to know how you were dealing with him. Don't want the British government going insane due to a two-week-old."

"_No, I'm fine –"_

"It's fine if you aren't. Just let me know when you are ready to give up."

"_We're fine here. If you need him back – "_

John's laugh interrupted Mycroft, "Are you kidding? I have laundry and cleaning to do. There's that movie I have yet to see. You would probably end up keeping him another night if it were up to me."

"_Right, well like I said, I'm fine with him here for now so whenever you're done eating your breakfast and decide you want to get him, I can arrange to have him transported back to your flat."_

"I'll call you back when that happens," smiled John, feeling sure that Mycroft would cave before he did.

"_I await your call. Also, John, I hope you remember our deal from this morning. You'll be receiving a call regarding the details of that shortly,_" said Mycroft with a smile in his voice. And with that, he ended the call.

John put his phone away and tried to recall what Mycroft meant by their deal. The babysitting deal? He tried hard to remember exactly what that entailed. There was something he was not remembering.

A few minutes after the phone call ended, a waitress came by to refill his cup of tea. John was chewing on his sausage when his phone started ringing. He looked at it and saw that it was not one of his usual contacts. Instead the phone displayed the number but he could not place whose number it could be. By the third ring, John clicked the talk button and raised the phone to his ear.

"Hello?"

"_Doctor John Watson?"_

"Yes, that's me. Who is this?"

"_Oh, I'm Violet Holmes."_

John spit up a bit of the tea he was drinking. A few of the people in the diner turned around to look at him as he embarrassedly mopped up the spilled tea. "Holmes? Holmes, you say?"

"_Yes. You might know my son, Mycroft, or rather, if the stories are true, my son, Sherlock,"_ responded the posh voice of an older woman. She said a soft prayer at the mention of her deceased son.

Shock flooded John's system. Shock that he was speaking to the famous "mummy". "Yes, I am familiar with them…How may I help you?"

"_I was calling to confirm the particulars for your visit to my home in Sussex."_

Again, John spilled a bit of tea followed by a coughing fit.

"_I'm sorry, have I interrupted your meal? Mycroft told me you would be expecting my call."_

John got his coughing under control and quickly responded, "No. No. I'm fine…your home in Sussex?"

"_Yes. West Sussex to be more specific. I just wanted to know if you would prefer a room facing South or East?"_

John's mind raced trying to understand what was happening. House in Sussex? South? West? East? Visiting?

"_I suppose I should tell you what the view is like. Maybe that will help you decide. The house faces East so the sun rises in the front of the house and sets behind it. There's one of the rooms that faces East in front of the house and you can see the sunrise. You also get a great view of the front drive. The room facing South East is on the second floor and you get a view of the sunset as well as the back gardens."_

John just listened to her and tried to get his mind under control.

"_Which do you think my grandson would prefer?"_

At the word "grandson" John's mind snapped into gear and confidently said, "I'm sorry. I do not understand. What is happening?"

Violet paused and then sighed, _"Mycroft did not tell you did he? I am going to give that boy an earful when I see him."_

John just listened but did not know what else to say.

"_Right, well, what Mycroft should have told you is that my family has annual Christmas parties and this year I get to host. So, we will be entertaining both the Williamson family and the Holmes family. I've spent ages arranging a date that everyone is available and luckily most of the family is able to be here on the 22__nd__. I was hoping you and my grandchild could come and be our guests of honor. I know the last time I saw you, it was under unfortunate circumstances and I did not properly introduce myself but I was hoping to fix that seeing as you have been caring for my grandchild."_

A Christmas party with the Holmes family? John was about to decline but instead he asked, "You went to Sherlock's funeral?"

"_Well of course. I got the news from Mycroft…It's awful that he's gone. I have yet to get over it. When I arrived at the funeral and saw you, I felt worse for you. How have you been?"_

"I'm, I'm doing well," he stammered. "Mrs. Holmes – "

"_Violet, please."_

"Right, Violet, I don't know if I can go."

"_Oh, did you have other plans?"_

"Nothing pressing at the moment but – "

"_Well there you are then. It's just a couple of days."_

"I wouldn't want you to feel you needed to invite me and Hamish. He can be a handful. I'm afraid I would not be a very good house guest."

"_Nonsense. I have a staff of people who are currently working on the arrangements for the party. I am free and available to help you with, Hamish is it?"_

"Yes, Hamish."

"_Right, well there you are then. I will have enough time to bond with my grandson and you can treat your time here in my home as your own personal holiday."_

"I don't want to impose and I really don't know anyone other than your sons."

"_Oh but they all know you. Your stories about my Sherlock are always the talk of the party and now that you have my grandchild, we are all just dying to meet you."_

John rubbed his temple and thought about the offer. He really did not want to do it but then again, he had nothing else planned for the holidays.

"_I won't take no for an answer and I don't beg but you would do me a great honor if you agreed."_

John sighed then said, "I'm sure just the party would be fine."

"_Excellent,"_ said the woman in a cheery voice, _"My house is over an hour away from London so my question still stands, which room would you prefer?"_

"Umm…the south one?"

"_The south east room, good choice. I will have one of the housekeepers arrange it for your arrival. Also, since I am on the subject of the party, I would like to drive up to London and take you shopping for something to wear to the party. It would be my treat of course."_

"Oh don't feel you need to do that – "

"_I want to. It will give me a chance to get your correct measurements. Besides, my sister has had her eye on a handbag they only sell at the designer stores in London."_

"Umm…I guess that's okay."

"_Great. I'm looking at my planner right now and I can be in London this Thursday at noon. Once we are done with the shopping we can take a car to my house and Saturday is the party. Does that work with your schedule?"_

John thought about his schedule. He had nothing on until he returned back to work. "Yes, I'm free on those days."

"_Perfect. I look forward to meeting you Doctor Watson. Have a nice week."_

"You too," he dazedly responded before the line went dead.

Mycroft is a dead man. John quickly dialed Mycroft's number.

"A_hh Doctor Watson,"_ he sighed.

"What in the bloody hell was that for, Mycroft?"

"_I see you've spoken to my mother – "_

"Yes. How about a warning next time."

"_I did warn you and as I recall, you agreed to it this morning."_

John sharply inhaled. "This morning?" he cried. "This morning? I was half dead this morning and you thought you could just manipulate me like that?"

"_You needed a sitter and I needed you to accept my mother's invitation. It really was the best option."_

"You tricked me."

"_You agreed."_

"This is not fair. You probably aren't even babysitting. Your assistant or one of your other minions are probably dealing with Hamish."

"_I resent your implication that I am not taking care of my nephew. He's right here."_

John heard the unmistakable sounds of the wheels on the buggy creaking. "That's not proof."

"_He's sleeping."_

"He has colic. He should be screaming his head off."

There was silence at the end of the line and then Mycroft responded, _"Nevertheless, you have agreed to my mother's invitation. I assume she plans to take you shopping."_

"I can still decline you know."

John heard the unmistakable sounds of the smile in Mycroft's voice as he said, _"My mother is a devious woman. She's only coming to London to personally make sure you get to our family home."_ Mycroft had John cornered and he knew it. _"I'll have the sitter return Hamish to your flat at seven. Enjoy your last few hours alone, Doctor." _And with that the line went dead.


	21. Ch 21 Thursday 20 December Year 1

Thursday, 20 December

12:00 P.M.

John moved about the flat and made preparations as though he were hosting the queen of England. Every inch of the flat was being scrubbed within an inch of its life and still nothing was right.

Hamish's colic had subsided somewhat. It was worse in the evenings but at the moment he was quietly sucking on his soother and trying to grip John's jumper from his position in the sling. John did not even react to the weight on his shoulder anymore. He cleaned and moved around the flat seamlessly.

There was no time for pain in his leg these days. The mornings were a bit painful but once he was moving about tending to the flat and to Hamish, the pain eased away and John found himself without the use of a cane.

John had still not gotten over how Mycroft had deceived him with their babysitting agreement and now there was no going back. Violet Holmes was expected to arrive at any moment. She had even called him the night before in order to remind him.

Everything John and Hamish would need for the weekend was packed and ready to be moved to the Holmes house in Sussex. The end result was a mountain of supplies and items that John had scrutinized over and over again to where he could assure himself that it was all absolutely necessary.

The kettle was already boiling by the time the knock came at the door.

The nerves in his body stood on end at the sound and he felt like breaking off the deal. John had never met this woman and now she was here at his door asking to take him away from London. What if she did not approve of him? What if she did not approve of how he was raising Hamish?

The knock at the door sounded again and John could no longer ignore it. He took one last look around the place before pulling the door open.

At the door stood an older woman who was nearly his height. Her face was deeply lined and the winter wind had caused her cheeks to flush a bit underneath her makeup. Her hair was cropped short and silver, which complimented her eyes. Her eyes and cheekbones were almost identical to Sherlock's. But that was where the resemblance to Sherlock pretty much ended. Upon first glance, she looked more like Mycroft. They had the same pointed nose and the same professional demeanor.

"John Watson?" she asked.

"Yes," stammered John. "You must be Violet." He extended his hand for her and she shook it. "Do come in."

She stepped inside and took a look around. Immediately John began to feel self conscious and he began to think of all of the things that still needed to be cleaned. Violet was a Holmes so it would only be natural for her to notice everything in the flat. She was probably reading his life story in the way the wallpaper looked and Violet Holmes looked very out of place within these walls.

She began to remove her long red coat and John immediately jumped. "Let me take that," he said as he helped her remove her coat. Underneath her coat she wore black slacks and a red jacket, which complimented her very thin frame. "I'll just put this in my room," he said as he turned and left her alone in the sitting room.

Once in his room, John realized he had no idea what he was going to do with the coat. He considered just draping it across the bed but then decided to hang it in the armoire with Hamish's things. As he busied himself with the coat, he realized he forgot to tell her to 'make herself at home'. She's probably in the other room judging me, he thought. Would it be tasteless to yell it to her from the bedroom? In the end, he held his tongue and finished hanging the coat.

When he walked back into the sitting room, Violet was busy looking at Hamish's newborn photo. The 5x7 silver frame still rested where Mrs. Hudson had put it last, above the television in the entertainment center.

"Hamish Sherlock Watson. Born November 30th. 7.3 pounds," she recited as John reentered the room, reading off the inscription on the photograph.

John cleared his throat and said, "It was a gift from my sister."

Violet broke her gaze from the picture and turned to look at him, smiling. Her smile was warm and held no deceitfulness. It was very un-Holmes-like of her. John had expected a bit more viciousness from a woman who had raised Sherlock and Mycroft.

Then her gaze dropped to John's lower stomach. John once again felt self-conscious. That was until he realized he was still carrying Hamish. John looked down at the newborn and saw him still sucking on his soother and petting John's jumper.

"Would you like to hold him?" John asked.

He wasn't sure what reaction he was expecting but it wasn't that. Violet was shocked into a rigid-like state. Her face was clearly stunned and she stammered the words, "Should I sit down?"

"Umm…if you'd prefer."

Violet went over to the sofa to sit down. Before she sat, she picked up a few baby blankets that were balled up on the sofa. John embarrassedly took them from her and put them away. The various messes around the flat were difficult for John to see now that they had assimilated so well.

When Violet was situated comfortably on the sofa, John lifted Hamish from the sling and leaned over to place him in her arms. Several times, Violet shifted her hands and arms unsure how to grasp the infant from John's arms. John gave her a few pointers before she was finally holding Hamish by herself.

"I'll go get our tea," said John.

"Wait," she exclaimed. "Do I need that thing on your shoulder?"

"Oh," John removed the sling from his shoulder. "No. That's only if you are standing and need to use your hands."

Violet just nodded and went back to nervously holding the infant.

John returned to the sitting room with their tray and saw that Violet was still watching the newborn.

"He does look a bit like my Sherlock doesn't he?" she asked.

"Umm…yes a bit." Unsure how to continue the conversation, John asked, "Is that what Sherlock looked like as an infant?" Most likely the answer was no. The Holmes family probably had much more lavish baby items. To his surprise, no was not her answer.

"I don't remember actually," she answered in a very small and embarrassed voice as she continued to look at the child in her arms.

It was an odd answer for a mother but then again, it would be difficult to recall something that happened over thirty-five years ago. John did not ask any further questions on the matter.

"Has the mother given you any trouble?" Violet asked.

"Oh, umm, no. She passed away right after giving birth."

Violet furrowed her eyebrows and tentatively nodded her head as though understanding the situation. There was no remorse, just a simple agreement that she understood.

John put Hamish in his buggy so that the two of them could enjoy their tea. They made meaningless small talk about the three weeks John has spent with Hamish. To his surprise, she was very interested in the entire routine.

Several times during the conversation, John caught her scrutinizing his tea set. Meanwhile, he was busy watching her etiquette on tea drinking. She had a certain flourish and grace to her movement. Never would John have ever thought to use those words to describe tea drinking.

"And you were an army doctor?"

"Yes," smiled John. She probably saw something on him that hinted at his military past.

"Right. Just checking to make sure. On the rare occasions that Sherlock had called me, he always mentioned an army doctor he was living with. I just wanted to know if you are who he was referring to."

"So…Sherlock did mention me?"

"Oh, of course. He used to call me once a year on the same day, my birthday. The conversations were brief, the boy never developed a patience, but he would mention you and advised me to read your blog if I wanted to know more about his cases. Apparently you are a better storyteller and he did not want to spend meaningless minutes reciting what you had already done."

John smiled into his teacup at the compliment from his deceased former flatmate.

Violet checked her watch, "It's almost 1:30. Are you packed?"

"Yes. I have everything in my room."

Next, she pulled out her phone, hit a couple buttons and told the person on the other end of the line, "Come on up," and with that she ended the call.

John was unsure if he should ask who it was. He didn't know what the formal etiquette for that was. Instead he asked, "Should I put on another pot of tea?" unsure if he was about to entertain more guests.

"No," she replied. "It's just the drivers. They're coming here to send your luggage ahead of us."

Moments later there was a knock at the door and John stood to answer it. At the door stood two tall men in uniform who both tipped their hats in greeting.

"Oh boys," called Violet from the sofa. "John, could you show them to your luggage and the two of them will see to it that it is sent on its way."

John nodded and walked in the direction of his room with the drivers following him. He pointed to the large pile of items near the window and the two men quickly got to work.

As the drivers got to work carrying everything John had pointed to out of the flat, John and Violet began getting ready for their shopping trip.

"We don't have to go shopping, you do know that right?" asked John.

"Sorry," said Violet. "I'm not sure what you mean."

"I mean, I am going to go with you. You didn't need to take me shopping to be sure I comply."

Violet gave him a small, but vicious, smile. "Well as it happens, I do wish to go shopping and get to know you and my grandson better. It's the perfect setting to do it all. And also, I have no worry that you will come along with me." With that, she turned and picked up Hamish's sleeping form.

With Hamish successfully curled up in the sling draped across Violet's shoulder and all of John's luggage packed in the car, the three of them headed out for their shopping trip in Central London.

8:20 P.M.

The day passed as smoothly as John could have hoped. Hamish was fussy for most of it but Violet insisted on holding him the entire time. John found himself between asserting on helping her since he already missed the comfortable weight on his right shoulder, or to just let her handle it herself since it was what she had wanted and John could do with the time off. In the end, Violet was able to keep the infant relatively calm and so John did not press the issue too much.

Shopping for a proper suit to wear to the party had been an interesting experience. The last time he had a properly tailored suit it had been for Harry's wedding and that was years ago. Looking at the final product, Violet's preferred tailor had done an amazing job and John found he rather liked the look once it was all put together.

Hamish was not yet old enough for gifts but still Violet insisted on buying him something. She finally settled on several outfits that would last him throughout the year. John bought gifts too but they weren't for anyone in particular. All of that shopping had been done already. Granted it was just a few gifts for a few friends. The gifts that John bought while out shopping with Violet were for the donation bin. He purchased a few articles of clothing, that fit a child about Hamish's age, had them gift wrapped and donated to the children of military families.

Once the shopping and dinner was done, John, Violet, and Hamish made their way to West Sussex. Violet busied herself with feeding Hamish while John sat on his hands and tried not to point out the way that the infant preferred to be fed.

John had not expected Violet to be so hands on but it seemed that she was rather enjoying being a grandmother. For someone who could not recall her own mothering of Sherlock she was certainly forward when it came to Hamish.

Almost an hour and a half after leaving London, the car began to slow down and turn onto a hidden road. It was almost ten at night, which made the deserted road look even more obscure. John stared out of the window at all of the passing bushes surrounding the road until the headlights showed upon an approaching country house.

The country house was made up mostly of bricks and looked more colonial than anything. The house was very block-ish and had a room attached to it on the right side. John counted five windows on the first floor and five windows on the ground floor, including the attached room. Dispersed about the grounds was a thin layer of frost, which made the country house look even more like a gingerbread house.

The car turned and stopped so that the side door would open to the front door. John quickly gathered all of his things while Violet did the same for Hamish.

The car door opened and the three of them rushed inside the open front door and into the entrance hall. The front door was closed behind them and immediately John felt hands grabbing at his coat and the bags in his hands. It took him a moment to register what was happening but once he had, he expressionlessly complied with the two housekeepers.

Once John was relieved of his coat and bags, the door into the reception hall was opened and he followed Violet inside. Straightaway John found himself bathed in a wall of warm air. The fireplace in the reception hall was lit and cast a low flickering light to the off white walls.

Violet called to one of the housekeepers that had hung John's coat in the entrance hall closet, "Could you give John a tour of the house while I put Hamish to bed?" The housekeeper nodded and Violet turned and ascended the stairs.

John followed the woman around the ground floor and was shown the dining room, the sitting room, the drawing room, the kitchen, and the second kitchen with the family room attachment.

In the center of the ground floor, John was led to a second sitting room with light blue walls. The fireplace in the room was not lit and so it gave John a chill to enter the room after having been so warm in the kitchen.

The fluorescent lights in the room managed to light every corner of the room and cast a yellow light upon the black grand piano in the center of the room. The grand piano had sheets of music covering its stand and John could see that it only looked neat, as though one of the housekeepers had taken it upon themselves to clean up the mess of sheet music.

Even the grandness of the piano was not enough to hold John's attention. Instead, he was drawn to the portrait above the fireplace. The portrait measured about one meter and a half by one meter and contained a canvas print of the Holmes family. All four of them.

Sigur Holmes was seated in a gold wingback chair just off the center of the photograph and his wife, Violet, in an identical chair to his right and with some distance between them. Mycroft stood in the center, occupying the space between the two chairs. To Sigur's left, was a gold ottoman where five-year-old Sherlock sat pigeon toed, knees together and back hunched, looking very much put out for having been included in the photo.

John's eyes were immediately drawn to the young face. The light blue-grey eyes framed by the dark curls. On Sherlock's thin frame he wore a white button down shirt with blue short trousers.

Once John finally realized just how old the photograph must have been, he began looking at the other members of the Holmes family. Mycroft looked to be about twelve years old and just on the cusp of his growth spurt. On his head was a full head of reddish brown hair and his attire matched that of his father. Sigur Holmes was dressed similarly to how present day Mycroft dressed. The dark blue pinstripe three piece suit looked elegant on his heavy set frame and complemented the brown in his thinning hair. Violet Holmes was dressed elegantly as well. She was dressed in an equally dark blue gown that hung well on her very thin frame and her then still red hair was pulled up high to show the jewelry on her ears and around her neck.

Although they were so elegantly dressed, their faces and body language told another story. None of them were smiling or touching. Mycroft and Sigur had the same posture and look. Their backs were ramrod straight and their faces only exuded professionalism and coldness. Where father and son showed intimidation, Violet Holmes showed vacancy. Her eyes seemed far off and distant as though she was not even aware that she was surrounded by her family. Her posture was limp and fragile looking. From a medical standpoint, the woman in the photograph looked gravely ill. Of all the Holmes', Sherlock was the only one that seemed to have some emotion but the only emotions being that of a petulant child.

John continued to look at the portrait and just could not imagine how the four of them could even belong together.

"Master Holmes died less than a year after that picture was taken."

John was startled a bit by the words from the housekeeper. He had momentarily forgotten she was there with him. "What did he die of?"

"Heart failure." The housekeeper sighed and looked up at the portrait. "He was too young and it did nothing to help Mrs. Holmes."

John had so many questions to ask and so many more photographs to look at in the sitting room but instead they moved out of the room and ascended the stairs to the first floor.

"To the left there are the spare bedrooms that we have prepared for the family guests…Through that door is Master Mycroft's bedroom and across from there is Lady Violet's bedroom."

John was ready to ask about Sherlock's room when he found himself being led up another set of stairs.

"Through there is the bathroom and if you come through this hallway is a sitting room…there is a bedroom on the left, a bedroom on the right, and next to that room is the room you will be staying in."

John followed the housekeeper to the door she had indicated and pushed the door open revealing a very narrow and rectangular room with everything he had sent ahead with the drivers. A full size bed was to the right of the door and Hamish's crib was set up against the off white wall farthest from the door. To the left of the crib was a set of double doors that led to a small balcony. On the wall to the left of the door was a fireplace and a chest of drawers. One of the housekeepers was busy folding John and Hamish's clothing into the drawers while Violet stood in the center of the room directing the two drivers from back at the flat on where they should move Hamish's swing. The room was quite large but with all of his and Hamish's things, the walls seemed to close in even more.

"John," said Violet once the drivers had arranged everything. "The tour went well?"

"Yes, thank you. Your home is quite lovely."

"Thank you. You came at the right time. All of the staff are busy with the arrangements for the party which means everything is freshly dusted."

John looked around for Hamish and then saw his sleeping form in the crisp clean sheets on the crib.

"Oh, that was something I wanted to ask you," said Violet. "Would you like me to have Hamish in my bedroom? I wouldn't mind having him overnight."

"Umm," he said as he thought about her offer. He could use a night off but something told him he shouldn't take up the offer. "It's fine. Everything is already set up here."

"It can easily be moved," pressed Violet.

John ignored the slightly put off looks from the drivers and said, "I don't know how well he will be sleeping tonight with this being a new place and all. I just think he might be more comfortable if I'm nearby."

Violet put her hands up in acquiescence. "Alright. I will be just downstairs if you need anything." She went over to Hamish's sleeping form and looked at him a moment before leaving along with the rest of her staff.


	22. Ch 22 Saturday 22 December Year 1

Saturday, 22 December

10:07 A.M.

John naturally rose from his sleep and took a look around the room. The alarm clock on the nightstand read just after ten, the alarm had been disabled, and Hamish's crib was empty. He groaned with annoyance.

This had been the second morning in a row that Violet had done this. She had snuck into the bedroom, while John slept, had taken Hamish and disabled the alarm. _"I just wanted you to have a bit of a lie in,"_ she had said.

Normally he would have felt grateful to have had some time to sleep but Violet's behavior was becoming more and more suspicious as John was becoming more and more possessive of Hamish.

Just after ten is around the time that Violet would have Hamish playing in his swing, at least that is how John had found them the previous morning. Violet had somehow removed the baby swing from the room, without John's knowledge, and had moved it to the family room on the ground floor. She had been busy looking through the seating arrangement for the party while Hamish swung on his chair and sucked on his fingers.

John sat up in bed and then rolled his left arm socket. He spent a couple minutes picking out his clothing before he could not hold off any longer. He exited the room and went in the direction of the ground floor.

To his alarm, Violet and Hamish were not where they had previously been. Instead, it took him a few seconds to register that they were in the adjoining kitchen along with Mycroft. Mycroft had not been there the night before and instead had arrived that morning. Violet and Mycroft were both impeccably dressed as always and were just beginning to eat their breakfast. Even Hamish had benefitted by having had someone change his clothing.

One of the housekeeper's rushed over to John, "Would you like some breakfast?"

John stood in the family room, in a t-shirt and pajama bottoms, staring at Violet, Mycroft, and Hamish sitting at the kitchen table. "Uh, sure."

He was led over to a chair on the left of Hamish's swing, looking out onto the trees surrounding the property. John had spent the previous day touring the whole of the grounds as well as the neighboring houses. Unsurprisingly, he found that the Holmes house was in the middle of farm country with the two nearest major towns being Horsham and Crawley and they were too far to walk to under the snowy weather conditions and with a bothersome limp. The walk around the grounds had taken the whole of the afternoon and he managed to tour the abandoned tennis court, the half frozen garden, and all of the surrounding trees.

John had only gone back to the house when one of the housekeepers had come out looking for him. It was nearly six in the evening by that time and the sun had finished setting. John was ushered into the house where he could already hear Hamish's cries. He quickly jumped into action and began to follow the sounds of Hamish's colic. The sounds led him to the sitting room in the center of the ground floor where Violet was just beginning her piano melody.

Hamish was set in his bouncer and placed on top of the grand piano while Violet played. John immediately stopped his rushing in favor of listening to Violet play.

The lullaby began as a slow rhythm using just her left hand. The long pale fingers with the diamond engagement ring and the wedding band struck the chords with an assuredness and a perfectly steady rhythm.

Once the rhythm had been established with the left hand, the right hand joined in and played the first melody of the lullaby. The lively eighth notes and half notes rang through every inch of the sitting room and it was still not enough to cover the cries of the newborn. The amount of passion Violet put into her playing made her body sway in time with the music.

Violet played the melody twice through, while still keeping the steady rhythm with her left hand, before she changed it and the melody became a new one. The second melody was full of half notes that struck something in John every time she played a new key. A look at Hamish and John could see that it was having a similar effect on him.

The third melody was a trickle of sixteenth notes that had the newborn slowing his crying down to a low simmer of discomfort. Violet took notice but continued to time the rhythm in her left hand with the melody in her right hand. John could see that Violet was enjoying having Hamish's response so much that she deliberately slowed the melody down until it ended.

When she picked up a melody again, it was the same as the first melody, only this time it was played at a higher octave. The higher notes of the higher octave had Hamish's crying simmering down to only shuddering that could not be heard over the lullaby.

The next melody Violet played was the half notes again but at a higher octave and it was the higher octave that had Hamish stopping his tears. The half notes rang about the sitting room and when the melody was over, the trickle of sixteenth notes began at a higher octave. Violet's long fingers danced about the keys producing the high-pitched notes from the right hand.

Her fingers continued to work the music out of the instrument until Hamish was yawning and Violet had decided it was enough. Both her left and right hand soon began to slow down until the final notes rang about the room, enveloping the three of them in the resonance.

Once the sound and the moment of stillness had cleared, John approached the pair at the piano. He could see that Hamish was now fully calm and was nearing sleep.

John had complimented Violet on her piano playing and she informed him of her professional music career. _"I stopped when I had Sherlock. After that…I only played on occasion. This lullaby…this was the only thing that would calm him as a baby…I can't believe it worked on Hamish as well."_ Hamish was asleep within the hour.

At the breakfast table, John was served a plate of eggs and sausage just like Mycroft and Violet.

"Oh John," piped up Violet. "I had the photographs from yesterday developed."

"Photographs?"

She handed him a stack of photographs and staring back at him was the newborn face of Hamish. Flipping through the stack, John found that the newborn was dressed in the different articles of clothing Violet had purchased in London and he was placed on color coordinating blankets. Hamish had spent the previous day being subjected to a photoshoot while John had been familiarizing himself with the grounds. Flipping through the photos, John admitted to himself that the newborn did in fact look very "cute".

"I know some of the family will want pictures," she said.

After that, the conversation turned to Mycroft and what he was doing with his life.

"Mycroft Holmes, how could you not tell John I was going to call him?"

"I did –"

"Then why was he completely blindsided by my phone call? – ah," she held up her hand to stop him. "I don't want to hear your excuses."

John stifled his sniggers into his tea.

After his scolding, the questions got more invasive and John didn't want to hear the details of Mycroft's personal life. Instead, he picked up Hamish from the swing and of course that gathered Violet's attention.

"Oh, I was going to do that," she said.

"It's fine. I was going to go upstairs and dress," said John as he quickly left with the tiny newborn resting on his shoulder.

John quickly dressed Hamish in a fresh nappy and then started picking out clothes for himself. He soon settled on a jumper, trousers, and a sling for Hamish then headed back down to the ground floor where he could already hear the arrival of new people. Upon descending the last set of stairs into the reception hall, Violet pounced on him.

"John, this is my sister Julienne Whittaker, her husband Brandon, and their son Harvey."

John quickly tried clearing the whirlwind that is Violet Holmes and focused on the new comers. He first extended his hand to Julienne, a very tall, very long limbed, and very thin woman. Her husband Brandon was equally tall and grey. Harvey had the same pointed nose that Violet's family had and was just as tall as his parents. Adding Mycroft into the reception hall and John felt very short.

He smiled and introduced himself to the three of them before the attention was soon turned to Hamish's curled up form. During the exchange the newborn had managed to curl in on himself and was now tightly pressed against John's abdomen.

John slowly extricated Hamish and handed him to the outstretched arms of Julienne. The Whittakers, Violet, and Mycroft all gathered to look at the newborn. Julienne rocked the baby in her arms and even sang a few praises in French to which Violet responded to in French.

"And this is Sherlock's son?" asked Brandon.

Before John could respond, Mycroft began, "Yes. Sherlock was gone before any of us were even aware he had a child. John here was gracious enough to care for Hamish in his absence and I dare say, it's a responsibility I think John would have liked to have lived without."

The two men and Harvey, who had been listening in, began chuckling and looking at John with amusement and pity. John awkwardly joined in their laughter but was confused as to if he agreed with Mycroft's words.

"I never knew Sherlock could have had it in him," remarked Harvey. "Having a baby? Sherlock? Unbelievable."

The three men soon began talking about the absurdity of it all and John was spared listening to the conversation when Violet told them all to move into the family room.

4:00 P.M.

The hours before the party were filled with more relatives from both sides of the family and more answering questions about himself, Sherlock, and Hamish. Forty guests (including children) were expected to attend and only twenty had arrived so far. John could already tell it was going to be a long night.

The staff ran about the house getting all of the decorations ready for the party and from what John had seen so far, they had done a fantastic job. The dining room and the drawing room were off limits at the moment but the rest of the house was covered in Christmas decorations. Clearly the rushing of the staff had its benefits.

Amongst all the running around of the staff was the running around of the children. Most of the children were Mycroft's nieces and nephews and ranged from ages one to twelve years old. They were all so lively and full of energy that there was only peace and order when Violet announced the gingerbread house making. All the children rushed after her and into the kitchen area.

With all the adults either sitting, standing, or walking around the family room, John was having a difficult time keeping track of who had Hamish at all times. Hamish was constantly passed from one pair of arms to another pair of arms. John was surprised he had not cried sooner but when he did, he quickly stood up to assist and hopefully steal Hamish back. Unfortunately Hamish was handed to Violet before John could do or say anything. All of the women cooed and awed as Violet calmed the newborn down to just shuddering breaths. After that, the alcohol came out and there were fewer volunteers to hold Hamish.

By four in the afternoon, Hamish was napping in his crib in their guest bedroom. John was getting ready to take a shower when he heard talking outside his door and coming from the sitting room.

John stuck his head out of the room to see who it was and saw one of the housekeepers and the Wright family. Courtney Wright was the cousin of Sigur Holmes. Courtney and her husband Riley, had both come for the party and were one of the few who had not been so invasive with their questions of John. He stuck his head back in the room but left it slightly ajar in order to eavesdrop on the conversation.

"We won't be in that room right?" John heard Courtney's voice remark.

"No," replied the housekeeper. "It has not been cleared for guests."

Courtney spoke to her husband, "That was the room of that nephew I was telling you about."

"The one that jumped off that building?"

"Yes, that's him and now he has a child with that guy we met downstairs. Urgh, that nephew was an odd one. That's why his room is all the way up here. My cousin probably wanted him as far away…"

Their voices trailed off as they entered the room next to John's and the door was closed behind them. By the time the door closed, John was seething.

Once his head had cleared, the realization dawned on him. Sherlock's room was on the same floor, just across the sitting room, and according to the housekeeper, still had all of Sherlock's things.

When the housekeeper had left and John was sure the Wright's were in their room, he snuck out of his guest bedroom. He made sure to carefully cross the sitting room without making too much noise and then he found himself in front of the wooden bedroom door. He slowly turned the handle and pushed open the door.

John had expected dust and cobwebs but it seemed the housekeepers were the best at doing their job. Inside the room, although free of dust, was full of cardboard boxes. Empty bookshelves lined one wall. On another wall was an old and stained table piled high with boxes. Against another wall lay a large bed free of bed sheets but also stacked high with boxes.

John walked through the room and looked at the labels on the boxes. Books. Science Equipment. Clothes. Books. Clothes. Books. It was all typical Sherlock but it still felt so cold. John opened one of the book boxes and flipped through them. They were all large hardcover books ranging from encyclopedias to biology textbooks. It summed up Sherlock but it was not him and it was not enough. Their flat on Baker Street held more life than anything in the old bedroom.

Sooner than he expected, John closed the door to Sherlock's old bedroom and got ready to take a shower.

Once out of the shower, Hamish was fussing in his crib and John got ready to wear his tailored suit. The suit was a two-button suit in a navy blue color, with a white button down shirt and a gold dot tie.

John put the suit on and looked at himself in the mirror. It was the best he had looked in months. All of the stress and worry was gone from his face. It was only replaced with the nervousness of having to meet the entire Holmes family alone.

He turned to look at the newborn, still on his back and staring up at the spinning mobile, and smiled. John quickly dressed Hamish in his outfit (black trousers and a grey knitted jumper). He stuck a holiday soother in Hamish's mouth in order to prevent any drool from getting on his clothing. The holiday soother was a gift from Harry and contained the message of "Happy Christmas" on its front.

John took one last look around the room and headed downstairs or else give into the stomach turning nervousness.

As he descended the first set of stairs, John could hear the noise level on the ground floor and as he got closer to the first floor, the noise only got louder. On the first floor, John was met with several new faces he did not recognize. They all looked so different and were animatedly yelling at each other in order to settle into their guest bedrooms. One family in particular was talking in French. A few men were walking around buttoning their shirt buttons. When they saw John standing on the landing, he just smiled and continued to go down the last set of stairs with Hamish nuzzled against his neck and suckling on his soother.

Once he reached the ground floor, John found the air in the reception hall difficult to breathe. There were people milling about everywhere from the reception hall to the family room. John stood at the foot of the stairs and looked out at the sea of tall bodies, cheekbones, and fancy dresses.

"John," called a voice amongst the sea of bodies.

John tried to be sly when looking in the direction of the voice that had called his name, hoping it was for him and not for another John. Instead when he looked, it had been Mycroft who had called his name. John had never been so relieved to see the man. Mycroft was dressed in a light grey three piece suit, a light blue button down, and a dark blue tie. In his hand, Mycroft held the hand of a tall redheaded woman.

"John, this is my cousin Suzette. Suzette, this is Doctor John Watson," said Mycroft.

The woman, Suzette, had her hair in a very high and decorated bun. Her dress was a short white satin dress with a sweetheart neckline. The dress was belted around her waist with a black satin fabric and the neckline was decorated with black and silver sequins.

"It's so lovely to meet you John," sang Suzette with a light French accent as she extended her hand in greeting.

"Thank you, it is so nice to meet you too. Are you French?" asked John.

"Yes, I'm from the French side of the family," she replied. She then went onto explain how Mycroft's half French mother is cousins with her fully French father. "Is this my new nephew?" inquired Suzette of John.

"Er, yes," replied John.

"Oh may I hold him?"

John lifted the tiny newborn from his shoulder and lay him in his arms. Suzette already had her arms in position and ready for John to pass the newborn. Once Hamish was settled in her arms, Suzette began to coo little praises about the newborn while John tried not to worry about the fact that Hamish was pressed against her sharply sequined bosom.

"Oh he's so cute. What's his name?"

"Hamish."

"Aww. He does sort of look like Sherlock. He has the Holmes hair color, not the red of the Williamson's," she laughed as John and Mycroft laughed with her. "There is still hope. Maybe he will be a musician or a painter."

John cocked his head and asked her, "Are you a musician like your aunt?"

"Me? No. No. I tried the piano but I didn't have the fingers for it. Then I tried the double bass like my father and that didn't work. No, I'm a dancer like aunt Julienne."

John ohed his understanding and the realization that Julienne's long limbed body did resemble that of a dancer.

Once Suzette had handed Hamish back to John, Mycroft led John to meet members of the Holmes family.

"John, this is my uncle Nicholas Holmes and his son, Callum," introduced Mycroft.

John shook their hands and was about to ask them what they did for a living before Callum beat him to his question.

"How long did you serve?" asked Callum.

John smirked as Nicholas Holmes raised an eyebrow in John's direction as though understanding why the question had been asked. John replied and soon the conversation turned to the politics of war.

6:00 P.M.

At six on the dot, dinner in the dining room was announced and the crowd of adults slowly began to move into the dining room while the children were escorted into the smaller dining room next to the sitting room.

John was ready to go into the dining room with Hamish when one of the housekeepers offered to take care of him while John ate. He handed the baby over and watched the housekeeper dash off in search of a bottle.

In the family room, only a small group of young men were left and John decided to go into the dining room alone.

The dining room held one long dining table that was bathed in a white satin tablecloth. The chairs surrounding the table were dressed in red satin chair covers and tied with a white ribbon bow. On the ceiling was a simple chandelier with crystals that caught the light of the light bulbs and the fire in the fireplace, and then played that light off the peach colored walls. The centerpieces of the table alternated between tall red candles and gold bowls filled with red ornaments.

John only had a moment to take the room in as the rest of the family started taking their seats. Some members of the family were busy laughing, talking, and hugging each other as though they had not seen each other for quite some time. John slowly circled the rectangular table, looking for his place card. After saying "excuse me" several times and passing by several place settings, Mycroft caught John's eye and he pointed to the empty seat next to him. John quickly moved around the table and sat down next to Mycroft at the place setting with his name on it. His seat was with his back to the fireplace and faced the window looking out to the front of the house.

A few minutes after sitting down, a pretty dark haired woman sat down on John's left. Her place card read "Madison" and John was immediately drawn to her. She was dressed in a dark green short strapless dress that had a decorative band that went over her right shoulder and extended down to her left hip. The band was decorated in green and gold jewels that complemented the green in her eyes.

The woman, Madison, however was not looking at John with the same curiosity. She was busy watching the last group of young men entering the dining room from the family room. As the group of young men dispersed to find their seats at the table, John inferred that it was one man in particular that she was watching.

The man she was watching seemed to be made of fifty percent legs. He was dressed in charcoal colored trousers that were perfectly tailored to his long and thin legs. The suit jacket was of the same color and underneath he wore a blue pinstripe shirt with a grey and burgundy striped tie. He had light blue eyes and a head of light brown curls that were smoothed and gelled back. John watched the man with equal curiosity and understood why Madison was so drawn to him. The man was beautiful. He did not look like a Holmes or a Williamson though he did have the sharp cheekbones. Could be a family friend or a distant cousin, John concluded.

The man sat down across the table and three place settings to the left from where John was seated. Madison quickly tensed and then began smoothing her dress and sitting perfectly straight. The blue-eyed man scanned the table and then stopped when his gaze reached John and Madison's general direction. Madison quickly looked to the woman on her left and tried to look aloof but John could see her cheeks were burning.

When he looked back at the blue-eyed man, John was surprised to find that the man was looking at him and absentmindedly rubbing his chin. John stared back but the man was relentless. He sat at his place setting, continuing to stare at John and rub his chin, and he could see that the man was making several deductions about him.

Eventually John broke his gaze and looked around the room. Almost everyone was seated and at the top of the table, Violet was busy seating someone that looked oddly like her father. The man was very old but had the same light colored eyes that his children had and was dressed in a very fine suit. Even Violet was dressed beautifully. She wore a floor length light pink gown with a v neckline and ruching.

Through the window behind Violet's father's seat John could see that the housekeepers had transformed and decorated the garden. Whereas it was half frozen the day before, it was now adorned with twinkling lights and heaters.

Soon everyone was seated and the food was served. One of the waiters came up behind John and placed a plate of food in front of him. The menu for dinner contained roasted turkey with stuffing, turkey gravy, Yorkshire pudding, roast potatoes, and all of John's favorites.

John looked to Mycroft to see what the etiquette was with eating with the Holmes family. Three forks, two spoons, three glasses, a teacup, it was all confusing and he did not want to make a bad impression.

All around the table was the soft clinking of tableware and the chatter of conversation. To John's relief the blue-eyed man was no longer looking at him. Instead he was busy telling a story to several people all around him and captivating them all with his conversation. On his right, Mycroft was busy talking to his cousin Harvey about several topics at once it seemed.

The only thing that drew John into conversation was when the man across the table from him timidly asked him his name. John looked up and saw the greying red haired man that had addressed him. The man seemed to be just as uncomfortable as John felt.

"I'm John."

"John. Nice to meet you, John. Are you a Holmes?"

John smiled, "No, I'm not related to anyone."

"Oh, yes, I was going to say you should have a conversation with your parents – I mean, that is if you were, if you were a Holmes, but I can see you aren't a Holmes, but you aren't a Williamson either…"

The man stuttered along, making almost no sense, but John just smiled and asked, "And you are a…Williamson?"

"Yes. Yes, I am. I'm Martin Williamson. I'm Violet's younger brother. So if you aren't related to anyone, why are you here? – I mean, who invited you? No. No, that's not what I meant –"

John just giggled and spared the man the awkwardness, "I'm Sherlock's former flatmate."

"Oh. Ohhhhh. You're that John. My sister was just telling me that I am now a great uncle," then his face grew solemn. "It's just terrible to hear about my nephew."

John just somberly nodded his head. They stayed silent a few moments before Martin continued to engage John in conversation. Periodically throughout their conversation, the eruption in laughter to John's left would drown their words out. The blue-eyed man still held his audience captivated with a story about his recent travel to Switzerland. Whenever the laughter on John's left would erupt, he noticed that Mycroft seemed to tense up a bit.

Either way, John and Martin continued to talk and John tried not to stare too much at just how much Martin looked like a lighter-greyer haired Sherlock. From their conversation, John learned all about Martin's upbringing. It seemed he was somewhat of a black sheep in the family, more interested in aviation than in the arts. In exchange, John told him all about Hamish.

"You should ask Violet for a photograph. She took several yesterday. Or actually, you can see him after dinner?" Martin's face lit up at that.

Soon their plates were taken from them and replaced with a dish that contained a slice of mince pie and a Christmas cracker. There was a giggle that went around the table at the introduction of the crackers. Several couples at the table began helping each other pull apart the crackers and soon multiples of people had little paper crowns on their heads. There were others who instead chose not to wear their paper crowns.

John was halfway done with his pie when he heard Madison say, "I'll help you." He immediately lifted his head to see who exactly she was talking to. As he expected, she had been addressing the blue-eyed man from across the table. It seemed he had several volunteers to help him open his cracker.

To Madison's delight, she was the one who was chosen to help him. Madison stood up and leaned over the table, watching the blue-eyed man the whole time. The blue-eyed man did not look at her at all. Instead he was watching John. John broke the gaze and looked to his left instead and was met with the sight of Madison's backside. John jumped slightly and then decided to just look down at his pie.

Madison and the blue-eyed man opened the cracker with a loud pop and then sat back down. The blue-eyed man gave a sly grin in John's direction but John didn't see it. Almost all of the Holmes' at the table had though and they giggled at Madison and John. Madison angrily huffed and pointedly ignored her brother's teasing stares. It seemed that half the Holmes family had reasoned her crush on the gay man but he only had eyes for the army doctor who was startled by a woman's backside.

The blue-eyed man looked inside his cracker and found it filled with chocolates, a paper crown, and a joke. He read it out loud and everyone burst into laughter once again. John just rolled his eyes and asked Mycroft to help him open his cracker. Inside his cracker he found a mini nutcracker, a paper crown, and a joke. All around the table various people got prizes ranging from temporary tattoos to chocolates and candies.

Soon after, the party started to move out of the dining room and into the drawing room. John managed to slip away and instead went to the family room in search of the housekeeper who had taken Hamish. To his minor distress, the family room was empty so he quickly went to check all of the rooms on the ground floor and it was in the smaller kitchen that John found Hamish reclining in his swing set being looked after by couple of housekeepers who were relaxing after the dinner rush. John thanked them and he took Hamish with him back to the dining room area.

He went inside the drawing room with Hamish lying on his shoulder and sucking on his holiday soother. John was momentarily taken aback by the transformation of the drawing room. On the ceiling hung a grand chandelier that cast light into every corner of the large room. Against the yellow walls sat several sofas and settees where small groups of people had commandeered them in order to continue their conversations from the dinner table. The wall facing the garden was made up of three floor-to-ceiling windows and two glass side doors that gave a perfect view of all the twinkling lights and heaters out in the garden as well as the moon. Against the same wall of windows a small orchestra was set up and dressed in black concert attire. They were currently tuning but were moments from beginning to play.

Among the crowd of adults were children running around wearing their paper crowns. Some of them were even brandishing temporary tattoos, balloons, eye patches, or fake moustaches. There were also some waiters with trays of drinks walking around and offering them to guests.

After a few moments of standing at the doorway and looking around the room, Violet found John and pulled him over to meet her family.

"John, this is my father Ethan."

John shook the hand of the elderly man and said, "It's nice to meet you, sir."

While he was distracted by the handshake, Violet began removing Hamish from John's shoulder. "And dad, this is Hamish, your great grandson." The relatives surrounding Ethan laughed at Violet's choice of words.

"Violet, you age me and fail to remember you are now a grandmother," said Ethan.

Violet's cheeks burned but she continued to hold Hamish in a way that would show the family what he looked like.

"And John, you were Sherlock's _friend_?" inquired Ethan.

The stress on the word friend scared John. Something told him they had very different definitions and uses for the word. "I was his flat mate, yes," answered John.

Violet nodded, "And he has been caring for Hamish for the time being."

John looked at her questioningly. He had no idea there was a cut off date. Before he could ask about what Violet meant, she waved down another relative and took off with Hamish to show him off. John had not had a chance to catch up with her so he was left behind with the few relatives of the Williamson family.

"Sorry about that, John, but that's Violet," spoke Ethan. The orchestra began to play so he took a seat next to the man. "She was very excited to hear that you and Hamish would be here tonight. It was the reason why I came in the first place. I didn't want to disappoint her." Ethan looked at John and said, "She may not always make the right choices but she always means well." John was confused by the man's cryptic language and he had no idea how this calm and thoughtful man could even be related to Sherlock and Mycroft.

Eventually, relatives began to come and talk to Ethan so John relieved his seat in favor of walking around the party. In the center of the dance floor, a few couples were slow dancing to the music being played. Most of the couples dancing had the fair hair of the Williamson family.

Rather than searching for Violet, John decided to go to the small bar area and get a drink. At the bar, a woman to his right asked, "Are you John?"

John turned to look at the woman who had spoken. She was young, had dark hair and dark eyes, and the thinness and long limbs seemed to say Holmes family. "Yes, that's me." John extended his hand. "And you are?"

She firmly grasped his hand in a very businesslike manner. "I'm Ellie Holmes."

"It's nice to meet you…how did you know who I am?"

"Oh, several ways. I've read your blog about your life with my cousin. And then I heard the news about the suicide and you were bound to come up in that," she replied as a matter of fact. "But also, Aunt Violet hasn't stopped talking about her grandchild." She smiled warmly.

John smiled back and asked, "Is that all you've heard about me?" in his most charming voice.

Ellie leaned back to properly look at him then took a drink before saying, "I can see you've had some sort of injury in the past. You keep rotating your left shoulder to keep it loose. Also, you seem very rigid even though you have relaxed since this conversation started. You were an army doctor but that's cheating since I already knew that from your blog."

It wasn't the most eloquent deduction John had ever heard. Sherlock had figured out more about him in one glance than Ellie had with all of her resources and prior knowledge. Still John continued to try and flirt with her but in the end it seemed to backfire.

"Can I get you another drink?" John asked.

She was mid sip when she exclaimed, "Mmm…Anthony."

John was ready to rescind his offer of another drink, thinking that she had mistaken him for someone named Anthony, when in fact she was waving to another passing Holmes.

Anthony Holmes seemed to be about the same age as John and had the dark hair and dark eyes like Ellie. His hair was cut short and on his face he wore a moustache and goatee. Anthony immediately went over to the bar and hugged Ellie.

"Hey sis…Bartender, mojito Diablo," he called to the bartender.

"Anthony are you drinking again?" asked Ellie.

"All they had earlier was champagne."

Ellie just shook her head. Then she looked at John and said, "John, this is my brother Anthony. Anthony, this is John. Remember, Sherlock's roommate?"

Anthony shook John's hand while trying to piece together what Ellie was saying. "Oh right. That's your boy out there right?" he asked as he pointed out to the crowd of people in the room.

"Err, the newborn. Yes, that's Hamish."

"Right. Right. I think my mother has a picture of him now."

John just laughed a little, "Yes, that would be Violet's doing."

"Anthony, John here is an _army_ doctor," Ellie cut in and stressing the word army.

"Well former army doctor…" corrected John.

"Is that so?" said Anthony continuing to suspiciously eye his sister as he took a drink.

Ellie just smiled at him, "Yes. I think you two have a lot to talk about." And with that she left.

John watched her leave and was left confused as to what had just happened.

"So where did you serve?" asked Anthony.

"Afghanistan," answered John, looking back at the man who was now leaning an elbow on the counter and looking at John.

"Do you know which company manufactured your weapons?"

John was a bit blindsided by the question so he tentatively answered, "Umm…I'm not sure. I think it might be a private group of manufacturers – "

"Did the B-N Islander have a red or a blue stripe on the side?"

John just shook his head, getting flustered by the conversation. "I'm sorry I really don't know."

Anthony just looked away and answered his own question, "It was probably Glover. Glover always put the stripes."

"Were you in the army?" John inquired.

Anthony looked back at him. "No, no I didn't serve. I used to make military weapons for the government."

"Really?"

"Yes, my background is in physics and engineering. That was how I started my company. Now my focus is more in technology."

John couldn't help his amazement. "Wow, well good for you. You must do well for yourself."

"Sometimes the work takes too much time away from me. I forget to eat and sleep. My sister has been trying to get me to meet someone that will take care of me. That's why she set this up," he said as he pointed to the space between he and John.

John looked at the foot of space between them and then back at Anthony. "Sorry, set what up?"

"This meeting with you. She knows I have a type: tall, blonde soldiers," he looked at John who was just slightly shorter than Anthony, "evidently she forgot about the first detail."

John just gaped at the man and was unable to piece together a sentence.

"Oh don't worry about it," added Anthony. "I'm not making you do anything." Then he looked at John seriously, "Unless you are interested."

John stammered out the words, "I'm-I'm sorry –"

"No, it's alright. I knew you weren't. This is your first time meeting the family, you don't want to make a bad impression by getting yourself caught snogging with me in the broom closet. I understand – Bartender, a refill."

John tried to compose himself and said, "Err, yes that would be a loss of face. Sorry about that."

From the crowd of people came the sound of Hamish crying. John looked at Anthony and the man just nodded before taking a sip from his drink. "It was nice meeting you," said John before taking off into the sea of bodies.

He maneuvered his way through the crowd and was met with the sight of Violet bouncing the newborn in her arms. John immediately went to her and took Hamish from her. He rocked Hamish back and forth in his arms until the crying stopped and Hamish was able to suck on his soother again.

The entire time, John had not taken his eyes off of the newborn and once Hamish was fairly calm, John looked up and found several dark eyes looking at him. On a settee, there sat two dark haired women and one dark haired man. Standing next to the settee, were two other men with the same shade of dark eyes and hair.

Violet made the introductions. "John, this is my niece Holly," she pointed to the woman farthest to the left. "My brother-in-law Luke," the man who was sitting down. "His wife, Alicia and their two sons, Michael and Benjamin."

John waved to them all. "Hello."

Luke was the first to speak, "John, I see you have quite the nurture with children." He laughed.

John half-heartedly laughed with him. "It's probably just my medical background."

"Oh you're a doctor?" marveled Luke.

"Yes, I am."

"What field of practice are you in?"

"Umm… I'm a general practitioner at a clinic and I work in the emergency room a few hours out of the week, though not right now since I'm on family leave," answered John as he looked down at the newborn in order to indicate his point.

"I myself am a doctor but I work in oncology at a hospital in east Sussex."

From there on, Violet went on to play hostess while John talked to Luke Holmes and his family. After a while, Hamish began to fuss and John excused himself to go upstairs and put the newborn in his crib.

"He's so cute," sang Holly as she petted Hamish's head one last time. "He's a little miracle after what happened with Sherlock."

John just gave her a weak smile in response.

"You should come back down when you've put him in bed," said Luke. "Annette Williamson is probably going to steal the spotlight soon and order the orchestra to play along to her aria."

John laughed. "Thanks, I'll be back soon then."

He turned and determinedly headed to the door leading out of the room. The clock on the wall indicated that it was almost eleven at night, definitely past the time at which Hamish should be in his crib sleeping.

Before he could leave a voice called his name. John stopped and looked around to see who it was so that he could tell them he did not have time to talk.

Instead he was met with the bright blue eyes of the man from the dinner table. John's shock must have been easily read on his face because the man began laughing as he walked up to John.

The man stopped in front of John, with a smirk pasted on his face, and looked at Hamish's tiny body. Something in John made him want to protect the newborn from this man's insolent gaze, so he curled Hamish's body against his chest. "Am I supposed to know who you are?" demanded John.

The man broke his gaze from the newborn and instead looked innocently at John. He then extended his hand, "Victor Trevor, I'm a friend of the family."

John shook Victor's hand and tried not to wince at the firmness. "That still doesn't explain how you know me."

The smirk was back when he responded, "Everyone here knows who you are. You're Sherlock's partner."

"His former flatmate," corrected John. "Well, it was nice to meet you."

John made to leave but Victor's comment stopped him. "I'm sure Sherlock will be happy to have a family to come home to," Victor bluntly said.

He wanted to leave but instead John turned around and said, "You must not have heard. Sherlock is dead."

At that moment, Mycroft appeared at John's elbow. Victor was the first to acknowledge his presence. "Ah Mycroft. I finally get a chance. It's as though you've been avoiding me all night," he said with a glint in his eye.

"I've been talking to various members of the family," replied Mycroft.

"I'm sure they were all expressing their condolences for your loss."

"Yes, well it was all quite sudden."

"Oh I don't believe that."

"I don't care what you believe," hissed Mycroft.

John looked up at the usually calm man and only saw him avoiding John's gaze.

"So why are you here Victor?" asked Mycroft.

"Mrs. Holmes invites me every year but this is the first time I decided to come. I wanted to meet Sherlock's son and former flatmate," responded Victor with a look at John. "I was Sherlock's friend after all."

John cocked his head and asked, "You were friends with Sherlock?"

"Oh yes. He and I went to Uni together."

Victor seemed friendly enough to John but he had yet to figure out why Mycroft was so at odds with the man. In absence of Mycroft's warmth, or at least cordiality, John asked Victor, "Would you like to hold Hamish?" John lifted the newborn from his chest and held him so that he was partially facing Victor.

Mycroft tensed at John's offer and he continued to glower at Victor. Unlike John, Victor noticed all of Mycroft's movements and subtle angry messages.

In defiance, Victor continued to eye the newborn but decided not to push his luck with Mycroft. "Um, no that's alright. He looks sleepy. You should get him to bed."

"Yes, I was on my way to do that actually," said John.

"Well, don't let me keep you."

John left the two equally tall men glowering at each other in silent conversation. He shook his head and left the party.

When he reached the top of the stairs on the second floor, he was tired. "You are getting heavy," he joked to the silent newborn in his arms. It was out of his mouth before he could stop himself but once he had said it, John found that he did not care that he had just spoken out loud to a three week old. He smiled down at the nearly sleeping form that was currently petting his suit jacket. It was a quiet moment and it made him happy to have had it.

Why he looked up, he had no idea, but when John did look up, he found a piece of mistletoe hanging from the top of the doorway. John grinned up at the few branches and leaves with the waxy white berries. He looked back down at Hamish and then planted a kiss on the top of his forehead. It was the first kiss he had given Hamish and it somehow felt right to wish him his first Christmas in this way.

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A/N: I apologize it took so long to post another chapter but I think now you can see why it took so long. If you can figure out exactly what just happened (I made several references), you should come and send me a message on my tumblr (mu5icliz dot tumblr dot com) or you can leave me a review telling me what you think I was referencing. Also, bonus points if you can figure out what song Violet played.


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